


a melody played in a penny arcade

by catgirl220



Series: Senses of Hogwarts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little, Ableism, Ableist Language, Cute, Fluff, Homophobia, I hope, Light Angst, M/M, deaf!Seamus, it's very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catgirl220/pseuds/catgirl220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seamus is different than most other people he knows, but it's never stopped him before. Dean admires his courage, and they become a pair: best friends, partners in crime, maybe something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1

He can’t help being nervous. His mam had told him all about her Sorting, but he still wasn’t sure what to expect. The hat was put on his head and then decided what house to place him in? 

His mam had said that the Sorting Hat spoke to wizards inside their heads. What if he couldn’t understand it? What if the hat decided that Seamus wasn’t fit to be a wizard? 

The old, impressive woman with a stern look waved him forward. He hesitated, stumbled his way up to the stool. The hat was placed on his head, and Seamus clenched his fists in anticipation. 

He _heard_ it—heard the voice inside his mind, forming words and sentences that Seamus thought he would never hear aloud. 

 _Seamus Finnigan, isn’t it?_ The voice said, deep and resonating throughout his bones. Seamus put a hand on the stool, expecting to feel vibrations, but only silence met his hand. 

 _Let’s see…_ the sound went on. _Loyal, hard-headed occasionally, tendency to make things explode…oh ho, you’re very brave, I can see that. I know just the place for you._

Seamus felt the hat roar on his head. The crowd of students clapped, some opening their mouths to cheer. 

The woman took the hat from his head, and he looked up at her, panicked and confused. Her look gentled, and she pointed discreetly to a table dressed in red and gold. Its students were cheering and smiling at him. 

He smiled back unsurely and walked over. Once seated, he pulled at the sleeve of a tall redhead wearing a prefect’s badge. 

“What house is this?” Seamus asked, wincing as he did so. He didn’t like to speak aloud, especially not to strangers. 

The boy beamed. “Gryffindor.” 

A tall, dark-skinned boy plopped down next to him, and Seamus turned briefly to grin at him, before looking back at the prefect.

“—best house,” the redhead was saying by the time Seamus saw his lips move again. 

He grinned to himself. _Gryffindor. Just like Mam._  

—————————————————————————————————

Dean Thomas watched the boy sitting next to him curiously. His first thought was that he looked like a leprechaun—short, spiky hair, and a mischievous smile. His eyes sparkled with some inward pleasure. 

“What’s your name?” Dean asked. 

The boy didn’t answer, looking around the Great Hall. 

“Hey, you.” Dean said again. “Did you hear me?” 

Still no reaction. 

Dean tapped the boy’s arm, and he spun around. 

“What’s your name?” Dean asked again. 

The sand-haired boy bit his lips before answering, his voice oddly loud. “Seamus.” 

Seamus pointed at the other boy inquisitively. 

“I’m Dean Thomas. Nice to meet you.” 

They shook hands. 

“Where are you from?” Dean asked, turning to watch the platters fill with food. He shoveled some onto his plate and took a bite. 

Seamus’ eyes were growing distressed. “Repeat that?” His voice was still too loud. 

“Where’reyafrom?” Dean asked, mouth full of food. 

Seamus shook his head hopelessly. “I can’t understand you.” 

Dean swallowed hastily. “Sorry. I’m starving—usually got better table manners than this. Where are you from?” 

Seamus watched his lips move, piecing together the sentence. Finally, he got what Dean had been trying to ask him. “Ireland.” 

“Whoa, really? That’s awesome! Do they really have a lot of sheep in Ireland? And…potatoes?” 

Seamus laughed softly, an strange, quiet sound coming from the back of his throat. Dean joined him. 

“Dumb question, I guess. Are your parents wizards too?” 

Seamus nodded, smiling. He pointed at Dean again. 

The other boy shook his head. “Nah, I’m the first in my family, mate. Want some chicken?”  

————————————————————————————————

Dinner was excellent. The Gryffindors trotted up the moving stairwells, stomachs heavy and full. Dean stayed near Seamus, who didn’t speak unless prompted, but stopped him from falling off a few stairs. They grinned at each other, laughing with other students on their way up. 

“We’re in the same room!” Dean whispered in Seamus’ ear. 

The other boy looked at him. “What’d you say?” 

Dean repeated his sentence, frowning. He should have spoken loud enough for Seamus to hear him—after all, Seamus was right next to him. 

He thought back at the way Seamus watched where everyone else was going before heading there himself, the way he didn’t seem to hear someone unless he was looking right at them. 

An idea started to form in the corner of his mind. Dean mulled it over all the way up to the tower where they were sleeping. 

It was the freckled redhead who guessed it, although inadvertently. He asked Seamus something while looking out the window. There was no answer.

Ron turned around. “Well?”

“What?” Seamus asked. 

“Well, what’s your favorite team?” Ron laughed good-naturedly. “What are you, deaf?” 

“Um,” Seamus said. “Yeah.” 

There was silence in the dorm. The boys stared at Seamus, who looked back at them, ashamed heat rising on his cheeks. 

“Wait, seriously?” said Harry Potter. 

Seamus nodded. 

Ron looked horrified. “Yikes…sorry…I didn’t mean—”

“Do you sign?” The boy who forgot everything—Neville, that was it—asked.

Seamus nodded. “Can you?” 

“Not much. I know a few words and phrases, but…not a lot.” 

Dean cut in. “Still, it’s cool that you can do any at all. That’s like a whole ‘nother language, yeah?” 

Seamus nodded, smiling. 

“Is it hard?” Ron asked. “You know, being a…deaf wizard?”

The Irish boy shrugged. “Don’t need pity. It’s not that bad.” 

“We’re not pitying you, mate.” Harry said, laying a warning hand on Ron’s shoulder. “It’s awesome that you can do this. I’ve no idea about any magic at all, you’ll probably be ahead of me in classes.” 

“What?” Ron said. “No idea about magic? At all?” He looked flabbergasted at the thought. 

The Boy Who Lived shrugged. “Raised by Muggles, remember?” 

Conversation moved on to other things, like Quidditch and classes. Dean stuck by Seamus, claiming the bed next to his and unpacking his trunk. 

“So, I thought sometimes deaf people couldn’t talk?” Dean asked. 

Seamus shrugged. 

“Is it that you can, but you don’t like to?” 

His friend nodded. “My voice is weird. Not that I’ve heard it, but…I can tell. From reactions.”

“That’s awful,” Dean said firmly. Sure, Seamus’ voice was louder than normal, and sounded different than Dean’s…but what kind of asshole tells a deaf eleven-year-old that his voice was weird? “Hey, could you teach me sign language?” 

Seamus’s eyebrows shot into his hair. “What?” 

“Can you teach me to sign?” Dean repeated. “It’ll be easier for us to talk, yeah?” 

Seamus smiled incredulously. “Yeah. You really want to learn?”

“Of course! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” 

Seamus stared at Dean, trying to gauge if he was joking. The other boy’s face remained open and sincere. 

Slowly, Seamus grinned.   

—————————————————————————————————

Word flew quickly through the school that Seamus was deaf. Apparently, Hogwarts had never accepted a deaf wizard before, which Dean found a little odd. Still, he put it aside and focused on finding his bearings in the ever-changing castle. 

When he did get lost, it was with Seamus. They travelled the halls together, gawking at the pictures and laughing, stopping prefects so Dean could ask them where to go. 

Seamus was more attuned to the movement of the school than Dean was. The sandy-haired boy would feel the rumbling of the staircase a second before it changed, grabbing Dean’s arm and bringing him over to grip the railing. 

It was a handy skill to have. Together, they navigated the school and learned to predict certain aspects of it. For instance, on Tuesdays it was best to leave breakfast five minutes earlier than normal, because the third floor always moved up to the very top of the building. 

Hermione Granger plopped down across from them one Tuesday, grabbing a muffin as if this was a normal occurrence.

Seamus glanced over at Dean and tapped his right pointer once against the opposite shoulder. _Why?_

Dean snorted. 

“That’s a bit rude, you know,” Hermione informed them, sniffing. “I’m right here.” 

“You know BSL?” Dean asked her. 

She beamed at him. “A bit. I’ve been learning it on my own time, over last summer. I think it’s very important to be able to communicate with everyone, regardless of their mother countries, disabilities, or magical qualities.” 

“Oh.” Dean said. Seamus caught his eye over a slice of bacon and shrugged. 

“Can you sign, Dean?” Hermione asked. 

The darker boy shrugged. “Seamus has been teaching me. I’m not very good, though.” 

 _Liar,_ Seamus signed. 

Hermione laughed. “Seamus, if you have some time, could you teach me?” Her hands moved at the end of the sentence, pursed fingers grabbing the air as though imitating someone talking before pointing to herself. 

Seamus gave her a hesitant thumbs-up. _Okay._

The girl beamed, pushing her hair back from her face. “Brilliant! I’ll see you in class!” 

When she was gone, Dean turned to his friend. 

“Oh, teach me, Seamus!” He said, imitating Hermione’s movements with a high voice and considerably more wrist flicks. 

His friend shoved him good-naturedly. He crooked his pointer finger in front of his mouth and pointed to Dean, grinning. _Jealous?_ He mouthed. 

“You wish,” Dean said, standing up from the table, making sure that Seamus could still see his mouth moving. “Coming, Romeo?” 

Seamus laughed, circling his pointer in the air in front of his mouth. _Who?_

“It’s a play. Oh…Muggle author.” 

The Irish boy nodded and shrugged again. Together, they walked out of the Great Hall, ignoring the stares and whispers directed towards them.  

—————————————————————————————————

Trouble found them a week later in the form of three first-year Slytherins, who sauntered up to Dean and Seamus and blocked their way. 

“Got a problem?” Dean asked. 

“Actually,” The blond said. “I do. It’s with _him._ ” 

Malfoy pointed to Seamus, and Dean’s blood ran cold. 

“You see,” the Slytherin continued, “Magic is all about speaking your spells correctly, which of course you wouldn’t know, Mudblood. But anyway, if _he_ can’t talk, how can he say the spells right? How is he a wizard at all?” 

“Just shut up,” Dean said, hot anger boiling inside him. 

“I’m as much a wizard as you are,” Seamus added. 

It was the wrong move. The Slytherins glanced at each other and burst out into raucous laughter. 

“It talks!” One of the goons said. 

The boys wearing green ties hung onto each other, giggling and imitating Seamus’ voice. 

Dean shot them a disgusted glance. “Come on, Seamus, let’s go.” 

Seamus followed his friend, keeping his eyes directed at the ground. He didn’t know what was going on behind his back, but if he had to guess, the Slytherins were still laughing. 

Still, his Mam had warned him that if he went to Hogwarts, some people would be cruel. It was human nature, after all, to mock things they couldn’t understand. 

Turning into an empty corridor, Dean slammed his palms against the wall. Seamus moved back hurriedly. 

“Not mad at you,” Dean said, sighing and turning back to his friend. “Don’t listen to them, Seamus.” 

The sandy-haired boy cracked a grin. “I can’t.” 

Dean grimaced. “Right. Sorry.” 

Moving closer, his friend laid a gentle hand on the darker boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Dean. I‘m used to it.” 

“Well, you shouldn't have to be! It’s not fair.” 

“You…don’t have to stay with me.” Seamus spoke hesitantly. “Easier for you without me, eh?” 

“No,” Dean said immediately, signing vigorously to get his point across. “Never.” 

Their eyes caught, and the unspoken— _you’re twice the wizard they are, I’m not leaving you so easily, my first friend here—_ passed between them. 

 _Class?_ Dean signed. 

Seamus grinned, pleased at the effort. Even if Dean couldn’t form full sentences yet, he was learning quickly and with eagerness. Seamus nodded, tugging Dean along with him down a staircase. 

Maybe sometimes you didn’t need to be able to hear in order to understand.  

————————————————————————————————

Seamus walked up to a teacher, trying hard to conceal his grin. “Excuse me, Miss. I have a question.” 

The professor was very young, and a bit naïve. She leant down, smiling patronizingly. “You’re Seamus Finnigan, aren’t you? What’s the matter?” 

“Um…what subject do you teach?” 

“I’m stepping in for the Herbology teacher today. Why do you ask?” 

Behind the teacher, Dean smirked to himself as Seamus stalled. Dean drew a rude picture in the air with his wand, using a spell the Weasley twins taught him. 

“So, um…Herbology is plants, right?” Seamus asked, his too-loud voice masking the whispers from Dean’s spell. He signed _Hurry up!_ discreetly to his friend, who nodded. 

“Yes, it is, dear.” The teacher said sweetly. 

“Okay, bye!” Seamus responded hurriedly, walking away and leaving a very confused substitute behind him. 

Dean caught up with him around the corner. _Brilliant!_ He signed. 

They poked their heads back into the corridor, watching as the oblivious woman strode down the hall, a large drawing of a penis floating above her head. If Dean had done the spell right, it should follow her all day. 

They collapsed against the wall, snickering. Seamus held out his fist and Dean tapped his own against it. 

Later, the Weasley twins would find them and offer congratulations on a job well done. Later, their dorm mates would cluster around them, eager to learn how Dean and Seamus pulled it off and what the spell was. But for now, they were two eleven-year-old wizards, causing trouble and laughing with their best friend at school.  

—————————————————————————————————

Seamus, as it turned out, never shut up. He didn’t _talk_ that much, to be literal, but his hands never stopped moving, telling wild stories with all the flair of an Irishman. 

Dean tried his best to understand. Although he had come a long way, he still had to pause Seamus in the middle of an anecdote and ask him to repeat the last sentence, or define what exactly a certain sign meant. 

Seamus didn’t mind. He was overjoyed to have someone to communicate with, even if the certain someone had to tell him to slow down, or sometimes starts doodling on whatever surface available. (They’ve gotten detention because Dean has drawn birds on McGonagall’s desk. Seamus thought it was a crime to wash off such great art. The professor responded that she would prefer Dean draws the birds _without_ her face on them.)  

Still, Dean was learning, and Seamus was happy. Some of the professors knew a little BSL, and occasionally they signed parts of their lectures. 

Malfoy was still rude in passing comments and laughing sneers, but Seamus learned to ignore him, signing to Dean disparaging remarks about the Slytherin. These always made Dean snort, Malfoy angry, and Seamus smile. 

School passed, and all too soon the friends stood on the train platform, watching Dean’s mum draw nearer. They promised to write to one another, and Dean vowed to practice his signing. He had plans to surprise Seamus when they come back for next year. 

If it was anyone else, both would be worried that the letters would stop coming, that the owls would cease to show up bearing another envelope. 

But it was Dean and Seamus: best mates, pranksters, comedians of the first-year Gryffindor tower. They would be alright. 

 

 


	2. Year 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but I promise I'm alive and kicking. Here's the newest chapter. It's a short one, but enjoy!
> 
> (As usual, I own nothing.)  
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, mate!” Lee Jordan called, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Have a good summer?” 

“Yeah, you?” The train lurched and the boys grabbed onto the windows of the compartments on either side. “Listen, you seen Seamus around here?” 

Lee pointed to a compartment at the end of the car. “I think he’s with Neville. I’ve got to go find Fred and George—later man.” 

When Dean entered the compartment, he was surprised to find Hermione Granger sitting there with Neville and Seamus. 

There were fist bumps and greetings exchanged all around before Dean noticed the redheaded girl sitting awkwardly in the corner. 

“Hey!” He greeted her. “Are you a first-year?” 

She nodded, smiling tentatively. 

“This is Ginny Weasley,” Hermione said. 

Dean glanced at Seamus, who signed _Ron’s sister._

“Where is he, by the way?” Dean asked, signing as best he can along with his question. 

Seamus shrugged, looking impressed. _No idea._

“Your signing’s improved a lot, Dean,” Neville said. “You’ve been practicing over the summer, right?” 

Dean nodded. “I tried, yeah. It was hard without Seamus there, but…”

 _You’re doing great,_ Seamus signed. 

Dean grinned at him, touching straightened fingers to his chin and bringing them down to gesture at his friend. _Thanks._

Ginny had been watching this exchange with some confusion. “Can you all do this?” 

“What, sign? Neville and Hermione know some, yeah, and I’ve been learning. Seamus is a great teacher,” Dean answered. 

“Oh.” Ginny said. “So there’s not like a class on how to sign?” 

Seamus shook his head. 

“Well, there should be!” The girl said fiercely. “Can you teach me?” 

“Right now?” Hermione looked startled. 

“Why not? Good a time as any, right?” Ginny grinned. 

“She’s a Gryffindor,” Neville muttered to no one in particular. 

Dean glanced at Seamus, who looked confused. 

“Okay,” Dean said to Ginny. “Lesson number one. Most deaf people can read lips, so if you can’t sign something, just face them and say it.” 

“Oh, sorry—I didn’t know.” 

Seamus spoke up, smiling kindly at the girl. “It’s alright. We’ll start with the ABC’s.” 

Ginny smiled back, copying Seamus’ movements. Neville and Hermione watched, jumping in occasionally. 

Dean took out his drawing parchment, watching the group of four and capturing them in a rough sketch. He left their hands blurry as the group signed to one another, laughing and explaining. 

Seamus glanced over at Dean’s drawing and tapped it in appreciation. 

 _Miss me?_ Dean signed to his friend. 

 _You wish_ , Seamus signed back. 

Dean threw back his head and laughed. Seamus watched him, wishing he could know how that sound was heard.  

—————————————————————————————————

The reason Ron and Harry were absent, it turned out, was because they had decided to fly a car to Hogwarts over the countryside. Dean and Seamus couldn’t stop laughing, especially when they caught Hermione giving the two boys an earful of her opinion. 

They formed a sort of study group in the library, with Neville, Hermione, and Ginny joining them for lessons in sign language. 

Ginny brought a friend to their group one day, a pale Ravenclaw with tangled blond hair. Luna Lovegood was an interesting addition, Seamus thought. But she was very cheerful, and he could hardly kick her out, especially when she threw herself into the lessons with happy determination.  

Luna mastered the basics of BSL and then spent most of the time making up new words. She figured out ways of signing words like Slytherin and Durmstrang, where such words had not existed originally. Her father published them in his newspaper, and a surprised Ministry of Magic heard about them. They featured Luna’s signs in an issue of the Daily Prophet, along with a few other common words. 

Seamus had no ambition of changing history, and thankfully the stir caused by the Prophet article died down soon after it had started. However, the library became impossible for them to practice in due to a few hecklers. Dean finally snapped and almost punched one of them, which resulted in McGonagall letting them practice in her empty classroom. 

Overall, second year was going pretty well until the attacks started. 

After the first Petrification that set the whole school on edge, Ginny Weasley stopped coming to meetings. When Dean and Seamus asked her about it, she made a half-assed excuse about focusing on her schoolwork. 

“Well, that’s alright,” Dean said. “First year is pretty stressful, and we…Seamus, you okay?” 

The blond had been studying Ginny intently, frowning while Dean spoke. _Are you sick?_ Seamus signed. 

Ginny laughed nervously. “What? No, no, why would you say that?”

 _You look pale,_ Seamus signed. Ginny frowned in confusion, not having learned the signs he was using yet. 

“You’re pale,” Seamus spoke. “And shaky—Ginny, what’s wrong?”

Dean looked closer. Now that Seamus had mentioned it, Ginny did look sallow. Her hands trembled as she tugged at the strap of her bag.  

Pulling herself together, the girl laughed. “I’m fine, though really, thank you. I guess I’m just nervous, with all the weird stuff that’s been going on. See you around.” 

They watched her walk away, bumping into people and swaying slightly. 

“I’m going to talk to Ron about her,” The taller boy mused, turning to catch Seamus’ hands move at the end of the sentence. Dean shook his pointer finger a few times in the air. _What?_  

 _She looks like a shadow,_ Seamus signed. 

Dean stared at him, unnerved. “Come on,” He said finally. “We’re gonna be late for class.” 

—————————————————————————————————

The attacks continued, targeting more and more Muggle-borns. Although Dean wouldn’t show it, Seamus could tell that his friend was worried. Dean used his sketchpad less nowadays, and instead started drawing on any available surface. He doodled absentmindedly during class, not noticing when his quill edged off the page and onto one of Lockhart’s desks.  

The atmosphere of the school didn’t help. The teachers were as tense as the students, knocking books over during their lessons. The vibrations of their footsteps were less sure and purposeful than normal. Seamus could feel their fear. 

He was frightened as well, but not for himself. Whoever the Heir of Slytherin was, he was obviously a blood fanatic like one of You-Know-Who’s followers in the old days. Seamus, the half-blood, would be further down on their hit list than his Muggle-born best friend. 

When Seamus woke up one night to find Dean’s bed empty, he automatically assumed the worst. Moving carefully as not to wake his snoring dorm mates, Seamus was relieved to find his friend in the common room, arms wrapped around his knees as he watched the fire dance. 

Seamus sat down beside Dean tentatively. The darker boy gave a start, bringing himself out of his head and back into reality. 

 _Sleep?_ He signed to Seamus. 

The Irish boy shook his head. _You?_  

Dean shrugged. _Worried._

Seamus put an arm around his friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Dean sighed, turning back to the crackle of the fire. 

“What does it sound like?” Seamus asked. 

Dean jumped at the sound of his voice. He moved his hands irregularly up and down in the air, palms facing each other, and wiggled his fingers. _Fire?_  

Seamus nodded. 

Dean turned to face his friend, thinking. “You know the feeling when you bite into a carrot?” He demonstrated, clicking his teeth together. 

Seamus laughed. _Sounds like that?_  

Dean nodded. _Make sense?_

The deaf boy agreed and turned back to look at the fire, mulling it over in his mind. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around Dean’s shoulders, trying to communicate what he was feeling.  

The prefects found them there in the morning, two twelve-year-old boys holding tight against each other, sleeping on the floor. Before them, the last of the fiery embers glowed softly. 

 


	3. Year 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for the long delay, but I got super busy with school and concerts. Thanks for all your patience and kind comments, and enjoy!

The first day Dean came back from summer holidays, he got slammed into a wall.  

His roommates exclaimed, crowding around the spot where he had fallen.

“Bloody hell!” Ron Weasley, who appeared to have grown even more freckled as he got even taller, peered down the corridor of students. “Harry, did you see who did it?”

There was a tap on Dean’s shoulder, and Seamus slid down next to him, signing. _Are you okay?_

Dean nodded, gasping for breath. He mimed a punch to the stomach. _Air knocked out of me._

“I just saw a big guy, that’s all,” Harry said. “It could’ve been anyone.” 

“Think it was an accident?” Neville asked nervously. 

Blissful air rushed back into Dean’s body as he inhaled. “I’ll be fine, really. Hey, maybe it was Sirius Black!” 

The boys laughed as Dean stood up, landing a hand to Seamus. 

“C’mon mate, what would Sirius Black want with you?” Ron scoffed. 

Seamus tried to slap the back of Dean’s head, but only succeeded in reaching the bottom of his friend’s neck. He frowned. _How did you get taller?_

Dean shrugged, dropping back to focus on signing. _How did you get shorter?_  

_I’m Irish._

Seamus watched Dean laugh. “So you’re a leprechaun?” 

The blond boy grinned, pulling a Galleon out of Dean’s armpit. 

 _How did you do that?_ Dean looked partially indignant and impressed. 

_My uncle taught me._

_Teach me?_ Dean finished the sign and marveled at his friend. “That’s so cool!” 

“Do you ever feel like you’re reading a book where every other page is missing?” Harry asked, watching the two interact. 

Neville grinned, but it was Ron who answered, shaking his head. “Constantly.”

—————————————————————————————————

“Seamus Finnigan?” The shabby professor asked, searching his classroom of nervous thirteen-year-olds. 

Seamus raised his hand and shared a look with Dean. It was always a gamble to see how teachers would react to Seamus. Some, like McGonagall or Snape (surprisingly) remained unflustered and signed fluently along with their lessons. Others like Flitwick tried their best, writing out most of their instructions on the board so Seamus could take part in class. 

Lockhart was not Seamus’ first experience with a bad teacher, and he was certain that it wouldn’t be his last. To be fair, Lockhart simply seemed to think that his student was hard of hearing, and that if the teacher spoke louder, Seamus could understand. None of his students had managed to correct him, although multiple had tried. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Finnigan,” Professor Lupin signed fluently as he spoke. “If you ever need anything, come talk to me.” 

Seamus nodded, and Dean looked between the teacher and his friend with narrowed eyes. There was a sort of understanding present in Lupin’s eyes as if he knew what it felt to be in Seamus’ place. 

They dealt with boggarts, watching classmates face their greatest fears in a classroom setting. Dean’s turned into a severed hand, which he caught in a mousetrap. 

When Seamus went up, a banshee appeared, opening her mouth in a silent scream. Her skin was green and hideous, and although banshees are known for their dreadful screaming, this one was silent. Instead, the smell of rotting flesh filled the air. Lavender Brown gagged and ducked out as Seamus waved his wand and a perfume bottle appeared from nowhere and sprayed the boggart in the face. The fake horror choked, clutching her throat, and vanished.

Dean offered his friend a fist bump as the Irish boy walked back, grinning in success. 

 _What did he mean?_ Dean signed, pointing to Lupin. 

Seamus shrugged, making a zero with his thumb and pointer and placing that hand in front of his forehead, other fingers sticking up. _No idea._

_He’s nice, though._

The deaf boy nodded, a hint of a smile on his face. 

—————————————————————————————————

Seamus snuck up the winding staircase to the headmaster’s office, spine tingling violently. He laid a sweaty palm against the smooth wood of the railing, trying to steady his nerves. 

The door swung open as he neared the top of the steps, and Seamus prayed that Dumbledore wasn’t in. 

_“Oh, sorry sir, just wanted to wear some old hat in your office? Please don’t kick me out or send a letter home?”_

Luckily, the room was deserted. Seamus cast his gaze around the room, eyes finally landing on a glass case which held the Sorting Hat. 

The boy slowly opened the case, the knob cool against his fingers. The fabric of the Hat was soft and worn as Seamus pulled it onto his head. 

 _Talk to me,_ he thought, yearning for the words that had echoed in his brain, their vowels intoxicating and seductive as he had never imagined, the consonants that Seamus could never fully grasp inviting and crisp. _I want to…let me hear again._

The Sorting Hat remained sullenly silent. 

 _Is it sleeping?_ Seamus wondered. Harry had told them last year that the Hat had spoken to him in Dumbledore’s office—the headmaster really needed to start locking his doors. Still, had Harry made it up? According to him, the object was very wise and helpful. _So why isn’t it talking to me?_

Frustrated, Seamus tore the Hat off his head and shoved it none too gently back into the case. _Of course. Only special Harry Potter is good enough._

A tap on the boy’s shoulder made him spin around. 

Luna laughed, signing. _You jumped._

Seamus rolled his eyes. 

“What were you doing here anyway?” She asked, looking curiously around the room. “Dumbledore should really start locking his doors.” 

The older student shrugged, pushing past her towards the door. 

“Seamus!” Luna called after him, then grimaced when he didn’t turn around. She ran to grab the back of his robes, catching his attention. “You are good enough. Don’t compare yourself to Harry Potter.” 

Seamus frowned and brought his hands up to sign, _How did you—?_

The blond girl shrugged and beamed. “I just could. Oh, and Hermione is forcing Dean to teach her to draw so…you should go rescue him.” 

He nodded, then as an afterthought, Seamus touched his fingers to his chin and extended them to the odd girl. _Thank you._

Luna smiled at him and waited until he left before turning to the Sorting Hat. “That wasn’t very kind, you know,” She remarked. “And I know you can hear me, you old bonnet. I ought to put you in a hatbox.” 

She huffed in her best impression of Hermione before leaving in a swish of robes, leaving a sheepish-looking hat behind her. 

—————————————————————————————————

The dormitory was wrapped in silent shadow, broken only by the snoring of five thirteen-year-old boys. Curtains pulled around beds were striped by the filtered moonlight, and a man crept through the room, steady fingers wrapped around a knife. 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Three of the boys bolted upright, directing their fuzzy attention towards the one who had screamed. 

“What’s going on?” Neville asked as the dormitory door slammed shut. 

Dean lit a lamp hastily, his spine tingling from the after-fright of Ron’s yell. 

The redhead was sitting up in bed, looking terrified. “Black! Sirius Black! With a knife!”

“What?” Someone asked.

“Here! Just now! Slashed the curtains! Woke me up!” 

“You sure you weren’t dreaming, Ron?” said Dean. 

“Look at the curtains! I tell you, he was here!” Sure enough, the curtains by Ron’s bed were ripped open violently, their jagged cuts lending proof to his story. 

Dean looked over at Seamus to see what he thought of this and noticed that his friend was still lying in his bed, not moving.  

“Seamus!” Dean yelled, suddenly seized with the fear that Sirius Black had done some damage after all. He leapt out of bed and shook the deaf boy by the shoulders vigorously. “Seamus!” 

Blearily, Seamus opened his eyes, confused. _What?_ He started to sign. 

Dean felt a wave of relief wash over him and hugged his friend tightly, pinning Seamus’ hands to his side. 

McGonagall swept into the room, lips pinched into disapproval. “For heaven’s sake, what is going on in here? Now, boys, I am as happy as you are that Gryffindor won the Quidditch match, but really—” 

“No, Professor!” Ron protested. “Sirius Black was here! I woke up and saw him standing over me… with a knife!” 

The woman paled. “Nonsense, Mr. Weasley. A nightmare—”

Seamus pushed Dean away from him and got out of bed, tapping the professor on the arm. 

She turned to him with a sigh. “What is it, Mr. Finnigan?” 

He pointed to a spot on the floor near Ron’s bed, tapping one finger to his right, then left cheek. _Proof._

McGonagall bent down to check, noticing the fresh smudge of mud blemishing the marble. 

Dean looked at the ground and finally saw what Seamus had realized—no one was wearing shoes. The mud, a token of the ground outside, would have had to have come from someone other than the five barefoot boys and their teacher. 

The professor straightened up, composing her face to a calm stillness, but her voice shook. “Well— well, how could he have gotten through the portrait hole?” 

“Go ask that nutter of a portrait if he saw anyone,” Ron said, amending his statement at the woman’s glare. “Sir Cadogan, I mean.” 

Professor McGonagall turned and left swiftly. The boys stood in silence, glancing at one another with wide eyes until she summoned the whole House into the common room a minute later. 

“Sir Cadogan tells me that he let a man enter the common room after this man—Sirius Black—read him a list of passwords for the whole week.” The woman signed as she spoke, but her hands were shaking. “So which person…which abysmally foolish person _…_ wrote this list and then left it lying around?” 

Next to Dean, Neville gulped. “Uh-oh.” 

—————————————————————————————————

A few weeks later, the Sirius Black crisis had been averted, in one way or another, and Lupin had gone. 

 _Harry and Ron get all the adventures,_ Seamus signed as he and Dean walked down to breakfast. 

Dean laughed, tapping Seamus on the shoulder so the deaf boy could read his lips. “Screw them.” 

Seamus waved a hand at him and tried to keep walking, but Dean held onto his friend. “No, I’m serious. We’ll make our own adventures.” 

They grinned at each other. Seamus removed Dean’s hand from his shoulder and kept walking, signing. 

Neville caught up to them, panting, his long string of detentions finally over. “Hey! What are you talking about?” 

 _Harry and Ron,_ Seamus signed. _And Sirius Black._

“Oh, those rumors?” Neville signed clumsily as he spoke. “I don’t believe them.” 

They had reached the Great Hall and sat down at their table, reaching over each other for the steaming food. 

“It’s too bad about Lupin, though.” Lavender said to Parvati. “Imagine, a werewolf!” 

“How do you sign ‘vampire?’” Dean asked.

Seamus shrugged, making his pointer fingers look like fangs and placing them over his canines. The group laughed. 

“Maybe next year we’ll get one of those.” Dean chuckled. 

Seamus watched his friend laugh, Dean’s mouth open and cheerful, light glinting off of his skin. Sensing the look, Dean turned to him. 

 _Yeah,_ Seamus signed, hastily looking away. _Maybe._

 


	4. Year 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry!!! I feel awful about not updating (but in my defense I was away and couldn't access the internet for a good amount of time). Warnings for some ableism in this chapter (and more in the upcoming parts of the story).  
> Many thanks for bearing with me, and enjoy!

Seamus waited in his bedroom, picking up a book but tossing it down a moment later, unable to concentrate. His backpack was thrown in the corner, packed with a few clothes and some money. 

Finally, the lightbulb attached to Seamus’ wall lit up, indicating that someone had rung the doorbell. The boy smiled, grabbing his rucksack and thumping down the stairs to find Dean Thomas entering the house. 

“Thanks again for having me, Mrs. Finnigan,” Dean was saying when he heard Seamus’ footsteps down the stairs. 

The Irish woman smiled, her accent tilting and warm. “Oh, it’s a pleasure, Dean. We’re both so excited to have ya— can’t believe you’ve never been to the World Cup before!” 

Seamus’ mother spoke as she signed, almost unconsciously, and Dean was pleased to see that he could follow the movement of her hands. Over the summer, he had asked Neville for some books that taught sign language, and clearly, it had paid off. 

“My ‘usband’s working, but he wishes he coulda met you, dear— Oh, Seamus! Look who’s here!” 

Dean grinned when Seamus came into view behind his mother’s shoulder. 

 _Excited?_ Seamus signed. 

Dean nodded vigorously. _Can’t wait._

“Well, let’s get going then! Don’t want to miss it, now! Dean, sweet’eart, Seamus tells me you’ve nevah been around this many Irish folk before. Not to worry, darlin’, just keep your head up!” 

 _Sorry,_ Seamus signed. _She talks a lot._  

His mother swatted him on the back of the head, ushering them both out of the door. “Dean, tell him I saw that!” 

—————————————————————————————————

The Qudditch Cup was the most exciting thing Seamus had ever seen. It didn’t matter that he couldn't hear what the announcer was saying, because Dean or his mother would sign a number to him if the score changed. He watched the players dart through the air on their brooms, moving so fast that he could hardly see them. He was one person in a mass crowd of green, of screaming fans, and Dean—who had always insisted that football was better than Quidditch— was just as excited as everyone else. 

The Hungarian mascots were…odd. Seamus didn’t quite understand the point of them, just pretty girls who danced around? Not much of a mascot, and they certainly didn’t look like any of the Hungarian players circling in the air above them. The rest of the crowd seemed to like them, though, so Seamus figured that it must be the song the veela were (presumably) singing. 

 _Wow!_ Dean signed after they were done, pursing his lips to exhale sharply. 

 _What’s so great?_ Seamus hit him on the arm. _The song, or what?_

 _Yeah, partly. But the dancing too, didn’t you—_ Dean gestured vaguely in the air. 

Seamus shrugged. _It was okay. Don’t see the big deal._  

The hairs on Seamus’ neck prickled, and he turned to see his mother frowning at him strangely. 

 _What?_ He signed. 

She smiled tightly at him and looked away, signing. _Nothing._

In Seamus’ opinion, the leprechauns were much better. Dean grabbed some gold, but dropped it, blushing, when he learned it was fake. Seamus grabbed Dean by the back of his neck, and his friend pushed him off, laughing, embarrassment forgotten. 

Seamus noticed his mother watching them again and hastily moved away from Dean, although he wasn’t quite sure why. 

When Ireland won, (but Krum caught the Snitch) Seamus leapt to his feet with the rest of the crowd, shaking his green shamrock in the air and beaming. He couldn’t hear the roar of the crowd, but he could feel it— their stamping feet shaking the stadium floor, the air from the exuberant yelling hitting the back of his neck. 

They partied late into the night, Dean and Seamus sitting together with a few other classmates or kids their age, sneaking sips of beer, watching the adults get drunk and dance around the fire. 

 _Told you we know how to party,_ Seamus signed to Dean, who laughed, nodding. 

Later that night, most people had retreated back into their tents, but the two friends were still outside, watching the night sky and casting anti-mosquito charms. Dean had fallen asleep on Seamus’ shoulder when the deaf boy felt something in the air change. The night no longer felt cheerful and carefree, but menacing and thick with the stench of fear. He shook Dean awake as his mother came running out of the tent. 

“We have to go,” She said. 

 _What’s all the screaming?_ Dean signed. 

Around them, other people were emerging from their tents, and running in any direction. Seamus felt the pit of unease grow deeper in his stomach. 

Someone grabbed his arm, and Seamus jumped, spinning to see his ma pulling him and Dean away from their tent, into the woods. 

“Some people thought it would be funny to torture the Muggle family who keeps the campground,” Mrs. Finnigan said, shaking her head as she ran. “We’d better hide until the Ministry sorts it out, just to be safe.” 

The three ducked down behind a bush as Dean heard the sound of wizards yelling die away as if someone had shushed them, to be replaced with the sound of uniform stomping and drunken jeers. A group of people dressed in robes were walking in between the tents where Dean and Seamus had just been sitting. Dean peeked his head up, watching through the trees of the woods. 

The Muggle family was suspended in the air, being jerked like marionettes by the wands controlling them. Dean saw the little girl start to spin violently in the air and felt sick. He sat down on the hard earth, looking at his hands. 

Seamus plopped down next to him, glad that they were concealed by the bushes and shadows. His mother glanced at the two boys, eyes full of concern and fear, before looking back at the Death Eaters. Keeping watch. She prayed that they wouldn’t harm anyone else, fingers poised and ready to use her wand. 

Dean made eye contact with Seamus and imagined what those drunken men would do if they found an Irish woman, her deaf son, and a Mudblood hiding in the trees. He swallowed hard. 

 _Okay?_ Seamus signed. 

Dean shook his head. 

Not knowing what to do, Seamus put his hand over Dean’s heart, feeling its hurried rhythm tap against his palm. Dean did the same, tapping out a more steady, calming beat onto Seamus’ chest. 

Something streaked through the corner of Seamus’ eyed, and he looked up to see the Death Eaters dispersing rapidly as they gestured frantically at the sign in the sky. 

Dean tapped Seamus on the shoulder, grabbing his attention and signing, _What is it?_  

Seamus looked frustrated and shook his head, not knowing how to explain through sign language and knowing that his speaking voice would be too loud. He took his pointer and with it drew two small hills in the air. _Later._

Mrs. Finnigan looked at her son and his friend, crouching close to each other on the ground, then up at the sky, watching the Dark Mark hanging there and wishing it would return to oblivion.

—————————————————————————————————

The first day they went back to school, it was raining. Seamus watched the lightning flash across the ceiling of the Great Hall and signed to Dean the question of whether it was thundering.

The other boy nodded. 

Dean had an artist’s view on the world, which prompted Seamus to ask, “What does it sound like?”

Both of them thought back to a few years ago, when Seamus had posed the same question— the year with the Chamber of Secrets, the year with the attacks on Muggleborns, the year where they had sat by the fire in silence, worrying. 

 _Look how old we’ve gotten,_ Dean thought. Second year was the first time he had ever really thought about people disliking him because of his blood status, and now the thought was back, an ever-present itch in the back of his mind since he had seen the Dark Mark blow up the sky. Dean turned to face his friend, standing by the Gryffindor table. “Remember at the Quidditch Cup?” 

Seamus frowned. He held his palms up and shook them sideways, asking, _Where?_

“Uh…” Dean couldn’t think of a motion. “Quidditch.” 

Seamus shook his head, not understanding. 

Dean saw a wave of frustration pass over Seamus’ face and grabbed the latter’s arm in companionship. He spelled out the word with his fingers.  _Q-U-I-D-D-I-T-C-H._

A pause, then Seamus nodded quickly, grinning in relief. 

“Remember how the stands felt when everyone was cheering? How they would shake? 

Seamus nodded. The vibrations had rumbled under his feet as thousands of people had stomped for joy. He smiled in vague reminiscence. 

“That’s how thunder sounds.” Dean grinned, sitting down at the table and greeting the other fourth-years there. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Seamus jolt forward suddenly as if someone had pushed him. 

“Retard,” Dean heard a voice hiss. A Ravenclaw was walking away, laughing with her group of friends. Dean felt cold. 

 _You okay?_ He signed, gently grabbing Seamus’ arm. 

The Irish boy nodded breezily and waved him off. _Fine._

Dean watched his friend as Seamus helped himself to some food, noticing that he had grown over the summer. His face had mostly left behind its childhood plumpness and had started turning into the angles of an attractive teenager. 

 _Your hair got long,_ he signed to Seamus, who made a face at him. 

_Jealous?_

They laughed. 

—————————————————————————————————

They waited with the other students, crowded and bored by the front doors, for the other schools to come. Why only these particular schools were in the Triwizard Tournament with Hogwarts compared to the dozens of others in the world, Seamus wasn’t sure. 

 _How are they getting here?_ He signed to Dean. 

The other boy shrugged. _I’ll ask Hermione._

Dean turned with the intention of finding said classmate, but heard someone yell, “Look!” and felt the crowd’s attention focus on one thing. He grabbed Seamus’ arm, signing. _Where?_

Seamus pointed up at the sky, and Dean followed his finger, inhaling sharply when he saw the flying carriage. 

“Bloody hell!” Someone—probably Ron (that was a favorite phrase of his)—yelled. 

Dean chuckled, eyes wide in amazement. 

Seamus glanced over at him and grinned, elbowing Dean to get his attention. _Nothing like this in Muggle London?_

Dean shook his head, smiling absentmindedly as he watched the giant horses touch down to the ground. His fingers itched, and he wished for his drawing pad. 

 _One more, yeah?_ Neville signed once the French students had gone inside, edging his way through the crowd to stand next to Dean and Seamus. 

Seamus nodded, noticing a peculiar vibration shaking the ground beneath his feet and echoing up through the soles of his trainers. He frowned, kneeling and touching the palm of his hand to the ground. 

“What’s he doing?” Dean asked Neville, who shrugged, watching closely. 

Seamus could feel a rumbling deep beneath the earth, as if some great beast was playing a rock concert. 

Dean tapped his shoulder, and the Irish boy looked up at him. 

 _The lake,_ Dean signed, tracing a horizontal circle in the air. He helped Seamus back onto his feet and turned to watch a ship (A ship?) emerge from the depths of the water. 

“That’s Durmstrang,” Neville said, sounding apprehensive. 

The other students marched out of the ship. At the head of the line was an older man in fur robes, and directly beside him was someone who seemed surprisingly familiar…

“It’s Viktor Krum!” Neville whispered, eyes widening. Around them, other students were realizing the same thing. 

“Surprised Ron hasn’t fainted yet,” Dean spoke and signed. He heard Seamus’ quiet but distinctive laugh next to him and grinned.

—————————————————————————————————

Overall, life continued like normal, although the upcoming first task was sending all three schools into an underlying tension of excitement. Although unsure exactly what had happened, and after some discreetly signed conversations, Dean and Seamus had eventually decided to root for Harry (although Seamus still thought that Harry had found a way of tricking the Goblet to enter his name). He was, after all, a Gryffindor— and their roommate, to make matters even more personal— so how could they not root for him? 

“Watch out for Rita Skeeter,” Harry had warned them one day after Seamus had glared away a group of mocking Slytherins and the corresponding _Potter Stinks_ badges. 

 _Who?_ Seamus signed. 

“Some reporter.” Harry shook his head. “Wears big glasses, very nosy. Bet she’d love to get her hands on you, Seamus.” 

“Is she the one who came to talk to Hagrid?” Dean asked. “The day we all nearly got killed by Blast-Ended Skrewts?” 

Harry nodded and Seamus signed, _That’s every day._

Now Seamus remembered who Harry was talking about— the woman with overdone curls and makeup. That was the day Dean had been slashed on the cheek and Seamus had burnt a few fingers, courtesy of the monsters Hagrid was having them raise. 

“Hey,” Dean said, elbowing his friends. “Isn’t that her, right there?” 

Sure enough, Rita Skeeter had rounded the corner, face bared in a smile that seemed fake and a bit menacing, if Seamus was being honest. 

Harry swore softly into Dean’s ear and ran in the opposite direction. Dean and Seamus exchanged a look as Rita’s smile turned towards them. 

The reporter marched down the corridor. “Well, hello! You boys are Gryffindors, can you tell me where a certain Harry Potter is?” 

“Um,” Dean said. “No.” 

Rita pouted at him. “Really? You haven’t even got the tiniest clue as to where he might be?” 

 _Astronomy Tower,_ Seamus signed, catching Dean’s eye meaningfully. _He’s going to Potions, say the tower._

“Uh, I would try the Astronomy Tower, sometimes he’s got class there—”

But the reporter’s attention had now shifted to Seamus. “You’re the deaf boy, aren’t you?” She gasped, grabbing a piece of parchment from her bag. “You and your friends made up some Wizarding signs a few years ago, didn’t you? What’s it like going to Hogwarts? Is it desperately hard? Do you struggle in your classes? Do you feel like you don’t belong here?” 

Seamus looked baffled, but Rita kept going. “Do you resent Harry Potter for staying silent while you suffer? Or is he someone who makes life here bearable just a little more with his friendship and kind words? Oh, can you speak?” 

“Yes?” Seamus said racing to keep up with the onslaught of words from her lips. 

“Oh, wonderful! You must read lips, then?” 

Seamus nodded, shooting a _Help!_ glance at Dean, who raised his eyebrows sympathetically. 

“What year are you?” 

“Fourth.” 

“Just like Harry! You must know him, then.” 

Feeling like he had just signed his death warrant, Seamus nodded again. 

Rita Skeeter looked like Christmas had come early. She snapped her gaze to Dean, who had been wondering if he should just sneak away. “And what’s your name, dear?” 

“Dean Thomas.” 

“And you’re friends with… what’s your friend’s name here?” 

“That’s Seamus.” 

“You and Seamus are best mates, is that true?” 

“Yeah, suppose,” Dean said. 

 _What’d she say?_ Seamus signed from behind the woman’s back. 

_Asked if we were best mates._

Seamus raised his eyebrows in understanding, looking pleased. _What did you say?_

 _Yes._ Dean made a ‘duh’ face. _Of course I did._

Seamus grinned.

“Fascinating,” Rita Skeeter breathed, watching the two boys communicate. Dean jumped, having forgotten that she was there. “Oh, what a story. I can just see it now… a friendship that shines like a light through the dark tunnel that is Hogwarts school! Not as understanding and accepting as he claims it is, then? Does Dumbledore call you out and embarrass you, Seamus? Or did he try to shove you into the back corner of the room? But one kind soul, Dean Thomas, backs up our protagonist and together, they form a team so powerful—”

“Planning another article, Rita?” A voice said. 

Dean had never been happier to see the headmaster standing there. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled serenely at him, and he wore a calm smile on his face as the reporter spun around, hastily shoving her parchment away. 

Rita Skeeter laughed nervously. “Thought I might feature some of your other students this time, Dumbledore. What do you think about that, a series of profiles? ‘The Students of Hogwarts’… sounds good, doesn’t it?” 

“Sounds wonderful. However, I believe that I did ask you not to accost my students anymore, Rita. Perhaps you would use another school for this profile series— I am sure Madame Maxine would be willing. _‘Les élèves de Beauxbatons’_ has quite a nice ring to it as well.” 

The reporter sent one last wistful glance to Seamus and Dean, who had moved to stand next to each other. “Fine. I know when I’m not wanted. You’re missing out on some great publicity, Dumbledore!”

“Oh, I’m sure. Do send me a copy of those profiles once you’re done with them. I’m sure one with Mr. Krum would sell.”

Rita rolled her eyes and huffed. “Seamus, send me an owl sometime.” 

They watched her march away. 

 _There’s no way I’m owling her,_ Seamus signed. 

_Give you five Galleons to say your life has been a dark tunnel of despair._

They grinned at each other. 

Dumbledore regarded the two boys with a certain fondness. “Heading to class?” 

Dean straightened. “Yes, Professor.” 

He nudged Seamus, and the headmaster watched as Dean read the question in Seamus’ eyes, answering with a head motion. 

“You take care of your friend, Mr. Thomas.” The old man said, a hint of regret in his tone. 

Dean smiled politely at him. “He takes care of me, sir.” 

Dumbledore gazed at them, chuckling, as they ran to class, making a mental note to send Severus a message explaining why the pair was late and excusing them from the inevitable detention. They reminded him of something shared, someone laughing at an inside joke, sometime when he was much younger and filled with wild dreams… The headmaster pushed the memories away, shoved the guilt back to the pit of his stomach where it resided, and went on with his day. 

—————————————————————————————————

A paper airplane knocked into the side of Seamus’ head. He set his wand down from where he had been practicing Charms and unfolded the piece of parchment. 

_If you set fire to the curtains again I’m gonna kill you._

Seamus turned and stuck his tongue out at Dean, who chuckled, flopping back down on his bed. 

It was a dreary Saturday. The boys had no class and nowhere to go. Rain rolled down the dorm room windows, and the white-sheeted beds were empty except for Dean and Seamus. Neville was in the greenhouses, Harry and Hermione were training for the first task, and Ron was off moping somewhere as he had been for the past week.  

“What are you drawing?” Seamus asked. 

Dean shrugged, raising his head slightly to catch Seamus’ gaze to make sure the other boy could read his lips as he spoke. “Lee wanted me to make posters for the party after the first task. Figured I could try out some designs now.” 

“But we don’t know what it is yet.” 

Dean nodded and, finding no inspiration while lying down, sat up. He inched back to sit against the wall and stared down at his blank sketchpad. 

“Oi,” Seamus said. 

Dean looked back up at him, signing absentmindedly. _Sorry._

_Think Harry will do well?_

_He’s Harry Potter._ Dean shrugged. “Oh!” As a thought struck him. _Guess what?_

_What?_

“I saw him whispering to Cedric the other day.” 

 _Cedric?_ Seamus signed. _Like—_

“Yeah, like Cedric, his opponent.” 

_What were they saying?_

Dean shook his head, signing, _Couldn’t hear them._

 _What good are you?_ Seamus waved a dismissive hand in the air, grinning. _Quit throwing things at me._

_I’m bored._

_Draw something._

Dean sighed, pondering the nature of artist’s block. _Nothing to draw._

_What about me?_

Their eyes caught. 

There was really no reason to be afraid of drawing Seamus, Dean reasoned. He had drawn him before, after all, but always with other people in the portrait, or just small sketches done in the corner of the page— a practice with eyes, hair, or a nose with the male he knew best. Still, to be conscious that Seamus would be right there as he drew, _knowing_ that Dean was drawing him and only him…

Seamus sensed Dean’s discomfort and cursed himself for being insensitive. _You don’t have to._

_No, I will._

Seamus struck a ridiculous pose, hoping to make Dean laugh. It had the desired affect as he saw his friend smile. 

“Just be natural,” Dean said, searching the sheets for his charcoal. 

_Should I hold still?_

Dean shook his head, thinking that it would take a miracle for Seamus to hold still for more than thirty seconds. “Just… do something. Play with your wand, or whatever.” 

A dirty joke rose to Seamus’ mind, but he refrained from saying it, instead focusing on the spell he had been practicing before. 

It was surprisingly pleasant drawing Seamus— drawing _just_ Seamus. He was familiar, and Dean’s hands were sure as he outlined the shape of his friend’s ears and filled in his freckles. Seamus was a galaxy, Dean realized, a universe of laughter and long-practiced hands and sandy hair that was getting darker each year; and that universe was covered in stars making a pattern down his arms, across the bridge of his nose. 

Dean drew Seamus’ legs, crossed carefully on the bed, and added the layer of hair that had started to cover them. Seamus’ lips were pursed in concentration as he worked out the spell, eyes glimmering with determination. He glanced over at Dean, raised an eyebrow, and shifted his focus back to the wand. The artist saw a hint of Something in Seamus’ eyes, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was or how to put it down on paper. 

Having Dean draw him was an odd experience, to say the least. Seamus tried to concentrate on his wandwork (jab, right, left) but his mind kept straying, knowing that Dean was _right there_ examining every inch of him and committing it to paper and memory. 

It wasn’t a bad feeling, this hyper-attention. It was just… different. Intimate. From his peripheral vision, Seamus could see the rain making patterns down the window, but they were inside and dry. Just the two of them. 

Seamus didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually Dean placed his sketchbook on the bed and stretched, letting the charcoal drop form his cramping fingers. 

 _Done?_ Seamus signed. 

Dean nodded. He glanced at Seamus, then closed the sketchbook and put it in his trunk. 

In return, he got a pillow flung at him. 

_You’re not gonna let me see? I sat here doing Charms for an hour and you won’t even let me see it? I hate Charms!_

Dean smiled tentatively, trying to keep up with the fast movements of Seamus’ hands. _It’s not that good._

 _That’s rubbish and you know it. Come on, man._ Seamus tried to make his eyes go very wide. 

“Don’t give me those puppy-eyes, they won’t work. I’ll show it to you later.” But Dean grinned. 

Seamus rolled his eyes, unable to stay mad. _Fine._

_—————————————————————————————————————_

_Who are you taking to the Ball?_ Dean signed to Seamus. 

The other boy shrugged, shoving his essay on the Blast-Ended Skrewts away from him. _I don’t know. This essay is pointless. No one knows anything about the little beasts._

“Just make up a history of their evolution. Like ‘they’ve got stingers because a long time ago they needed it for defense,’ and ‘they want to kill all living things but really they’re just misunderstood.” 

Seamus chuckled. He stretched and gazed around the common room, where Fred and George were sitting in a corner, talking quietly. This was unusual, as every other night the twins had been testing out their Canary Creams on unsuspecting souls (who frankly should have known better than to eat something offered by those two). 

Dean leaned over and poked Seamus in the forehead, grabbing his attention. He signed, _You should ask someone before it’s too late._

_What is it with you and this Ball? It doesn’t sound that great._

Dean shrugged. _Just think it could be fun, that’s all._

Seamus ran a hand through his hair, irritated. _Fine. We’ll ask Parvati and Lavender to go with us, yeah?_

Dean nodded. 

When they approached their friends about it the next day, however, Parvati winced visibly. 

“I’m really sorry, but Harry just asked me. I thought you two had already asked people!” Parvati elbowed the girl next to her. “But Lav needs a date.” 

“So, will you go with us?” Dean asked. 

Lavender smiled. “Sure! But who exactly am I going with?” 

The two boys glanced at each other, not having thought that far ahead. Seamus shrugged. 

“You choose.” He told Lavender. 

Parvati giggled as Lavender glanced between the two boys, mulling it over. 

“Seamus.” She said finally. “Is that alright?” 

Seamus nodded. He gestured towards Dean. “Can you think of a date for him?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, signing. _I don’t need charity._

_Shut it, I’m helping you._

“Um, there’s Julie Habiba— she’s in our dorm.” Lavender said. By now she had learned to ignore the signed conversations and corresponding facial expressions. She turned to Parvati. “Julie isn’t going with anyone yet, right?” 

Parvati shook her head. “You’d like her, Dean, she’s nice. I think she likes to draw, too!” 

 _Okay?_ Seamus asked. 

“Sure,” Dean said aloud. “Thanks, Lav. Parvati.” 

“I thought they were going with each other,” Parvati whispered into Lavender’s ear, watching the boys walk away. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you thought it too!” 

Lavender only laughed. 

 

Christmas Day came in a flurry of snow and activity. Presents were opened in the morning, Dean and Seamus passed the afternoon shoving snow down each other’s scarves, and the Yule Ball arrived sooner than expected as evening crept in.

Dean met Julie Habiba for the first time as she waited with Lavender in the common room.  She was pretty enough, he supposed, with bright, dark eyes and deep purple robes. 

“Er, should we go, then?” She asked him, smiling hesitantly. 

“Yeah, sorry! I’m Dean.” 

She shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. So, Lavender tells me you’re an artist?” 

Seamus watched as their conversation started flowing. He looked at Lavender and raised his eyebrows.  

“I told you they would hit it off!” She smiled, making an effort to speak slowly. 

Julie seemed to be smiling just a little _too_ widely in Seamus’ opinion. She fixed Dean’s collar (even though Seamus had adjusted it before) and left her hands there for just a second longer than necessary. Seamus frowned. 

Lavender took his arm, her smile softening the tiniest bit. She squeezed, and he turned to look at her. 

“Don’t mind them,” She advised. “Let’s just have fun, yeah? We’re going to a Ball, think how exciting that is!” 

He grinned at Lavender reluctantly, thinking that she was much smarter than people gave her credit for. Determined to enjoy himself, Seamus pushed Julie and her sly smiles out of his mind. 

 

The Ball… wasn’t that bad, actually. Everyone cleaned up nicely, Seamus thought, and it was fun watching Lavender communicate her opinions on everyone’s outfits.

“Oh, there are the champions!” Julie gasped. “Look at Parvati, isn’t she beautiful?” 

Lavender smiled proudly. 

Dean nudged Seamus. _Look at Harry._

Seamus did, and had to hold back his laughter. The Boy Who Lived looked extremely awkward as he started to dance, holding Parvati at an arm’s length like he was afraid she would bite. Dean sniggered as the Indian girl forcibly began to lead, which resulted in Harry looking less panicked but also even more like a statue as he swayed back and forth. 

 _Five Galleons if you can get him to laugh,_ Seamus signed. 

They started making faces at their friend, waving back and forth to try and get his attention. Harry pointedly started to ignore them, leaving the two boys laughing. 

“So your friend Seamus is the deaf one, right?” Julie asked Dean later that night, standing by the drinks. 

“Yeah.” Dean glanced over at the crowd, looking for the mop of dirty-blond hair, but realized that Seamus was too short to pick out from the crowd of bopping teenagers. 

“You think he’ll ever get cured? I mean, it’s amazing what magic can do, like grow back limbs and all, so it might be able to fix him, too. Though I don’t know…” 

“Oh-kay,” Dean said. “And we’re done here. Seamus doesn't need _fixing_.” He grabbed the handsome Hufflepuff chatting a few feet away and towed him over to Julie. “You two have fun, he’s your date now.” 

Leaving the startled students staring after him, Dean pushed his way through the crowd, nearly bumping into a laughing Neville and Ginny. 

“You seen Seamus?” He yelled, struggling to be heard over the music. 

Ginny pointed to the left, and he signed a quick _Thanks_ to her. Dean found his friends pretty quickly and sidled up next to Lavender. 

“What happened with Julie?” 

He shrugged. “Turned out to be a bit rude.” 

“Oh, too bad! Hey, come dance with us! Parvati and Padma are here, and some French kids!” 

 

They ended up dancing together to music that Seamus couldn’t hear. But he followed the beat that seemed to be present in some of Dean’s moves, not caring how ridiculous they looked. The songs were clearly upbeat, so they danced facing each other and laughing. 

 _Better than I expected,_ Seamus thought, looking out at the spinning colors of dress robes and twirling students. If he looked up, the ceiling glistened with snowflakes and fairy lights, and his friends surrounded him and Dean. He almost didn’t need the music. 

—————————————————————————————————

Seamus had been practicing his announcement over and over in front of the mirror by the time he worked up enough nerve to admit it to himself. Dean was the first person he wanted to tell, when he figured out that he wanted to tell someone. (Not his mother— Seamus could just picture how badly she would react.) 

Dean punched his shoulder gently, drawing his friend back to the present. _You alright, mate?_

 _Yeah, sorry._ Seamus took a deep breath. _Hey, I have something to tell you._

_What’s up?_

Seamus looked nervous. _I’m…_ and then he formed a sign that Dean couldn’t recognize. 

 _Repeat?_ The taller boy signed, frowning. 

Seamus made a thumbs-up with one hand and placed it on top of his other outstretched palm. He wiggled his fisted hand back and forth and repeated the sentence. 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know what that means. Sorry.” 

Around them, other students were walking to lunch. Seamus grabbed Dean and pulled him into an empty classroom. 

“It means gay.” He did the sign again, frustrated. “I’m gay.” 

Dean stared at his friend for a long moment. “Oh. How did you, um… I mean—” _When?_ He finished, signing.  

Seamus shrugged, shoulders tense. _Remember after the Yule Ball, when we saw Harry and Cedric?_

Dean nodded. They had been going upstairs when they saw Cedric grab Harry and look around furtively. The two champions exchanged whispers, and Seamus had urged Dean to get closer to hear. Tucked into the shadows, Dean had signed to Seamus what snippets he could catch of the conversation, which included Cedric saying, “Bath,” a few times, then “Mull it over in the hot water… always helps me…” 

Harry had looked surprised and Cedric had smiled at him, whispered something else, and left quickly. Dean and Seamus had looked at each other, mouths hanging open, and stayed up to watch Harry sneak out. He came back in the wee hours of the morning with his hair wet and a look on his face like he’d just had a revelation and was deeply questioning something at the same time. 

“So because we think Harry and Cedric are shagging,” Dean said. “That made you realize that _you_ are… gay?” 

 _I like blokes._ Seamus nodded. _A lot of things make sense now._

“Oh,” Dean said again. 

The deaf boy watched him worriedly. “Are you mad?” 

Hearing Seamus speak something he could easily have signed— syllables running together and voice too loud— sent a rush of affection through Dean. This information was new and something to wrap his head around, but it was _Seamus._

Dean smiled. “Of course I’m not mad, don’t be stupid. I don’t have a problem with it. Honest.” 

_Thank you._

_Yeah, of course. Now let’s go eat, I’m bloody starving._

—————————————————————————————————

The end of the year drew closer, and with it the end of the Triwizard Tournament. What was supposed to be a day of celebration turned to shock and mourning as Harry tumbled back into existence, sobbing and clutching Cedric’s dead body. 

In the stands, Dean and Seamus looked at each other, a glance full of sympathy for Harry (who had, to their knowledge, just lost a boyfriend) and fear for the future. 

For two seconds, they grabbed each other’s hand, then realized what they were doing and broke apart. Suddenly, they felt like childhood had been gone a long, long time. 

 


	5. Year 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for lots of discrimination in this chapter, as Umbridge is an evil person.

_I don’t see why you keep hanging onto those old football posters._

Dean rolled his eyes. “Because I like football and Quidditch. Can’t I like both?” 

 _They don’t even move!_ Seamus signed in exasperation. 

It was an old argument, repeated at the start of each year as the boys hung up posters onto the walls by their beds. Dean and Seamus took comfort from the familiarity of playful bickering, purposefully Not Talking about the world’s opinion on Harry’s story from last year. 

“Football’s just as good a sport as Quidditch. It’s just on the ground.” 

_They. Don’t. Even. Move._

The pair grinned at each other as Harry and Neville walked in. 

“Hi,” Harry said, moving to his trunk. 

Seamus turned away abruptly, keeping one eye on the group of boys. 

“Hey, Harry.” Dean pulled on a pair of pajama pants. “Good holiday?” 

“Not bad. You?” 

“Yeah, it was okay. Better than Seamus’ anyway, he was just telling me.” 

Seamus threw Dean a dark look, which his friend ignored. 

Neville, who was holding a plant, asked, “Why, what happened, Seamus?” 

For the benefit of Harry, who didn’t understand that much sign language, Seamus decided to speak, although he resented it. The stormy weather had put him in a bad mood, and the whole situation was ridiculous, anyway. He pretended to straighten a poster and mumbled, “Me mam didn’t want me to come back.” 

“What?” Harry said, his eyebrows raising. 

Seamus hated the pitying surprise on his face. “She didn’t want me to come back to Hogwarts.” 

“But— why?” 

There was an awkward silence. Dean shifted his weight, feeling sightly guilty for starting the conversation.

Seamus finished buttoning his shirt and finally answered, “Well, I suppose… because of you.” 

“What d’you mean?” Harry’s tone was simmering. 

Dean caught Seamus’ eye and signed discreetly, _Careful._

“Well,” Seamus said, wincing. “She… er… well, it’s not just you, it’s Dumbledore, too…” 

“She believes the _Daily Prophet_? She thinks I’m a liar and Dumbledore’s an old fool?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” Seamus finished lamely. 

Their roommate turned away, slamming clothes into his trunk. 

 _Ask him what really happened,_ Seamus signed to Dean, who shook his head vehemently. 

_You’ve already made him mad. You do it._

The deaf boy made a face. Just as Harry was about to get into bed Seamus spoke again, hesitantly. “Look… what _did_ happen that night when… you know, when… with Cedric Diggory and all?” 

Dean listened intently into the short-lived silence. 

“What are you asking me for? Just read the _Daily Prophet_ like your mother, why don’t you? That’ll tell you all you need to know!”

As Harry got angrier, it got progressively harder to read his lips, but Seamus got the gist of it. “Don’t you have a go at my mother.” 

“I’ll have a go at anyone who calls me a liar.” 

“Don’t talk to me like that!” They were glaring at each other with similar nasty expressions, and Seamus could practically see the moment before the explosion that was Harry Potter. 

“I’ll talk to you how I want! If you’ve got a problem sharing a dormitory with me, go and ask McGonagall if you can be moved, stop your mummy worrying—” 

“Leave my mother out of this, Potter!” 

Harry’s focus, which had been previously burning a hole in Seamus, switched to a spot behind his opponent. He lowered his wand and Seamus turned to see Ron standing there looking shocked. 

Seamus’ anger was not abated by the sight of the redhead. “He’s having a go at my mother!”

Ron looked aghast. “Harry wouldn’t do that. We met your mother, we liked her…” 

Ron and Dean looked back at Harry, and Seamus swiveled around to catch the end of Potter’s sentence. “—believing every word the stinking _Daily Prophet_ writes about me!” 

“You know what?” Seamus said venomously. “He’s right, I don’t want to share a dorm with him anymore, he’s a madman.” 

“That’s out of order, Seamus,” Ron warned. 

“Out of order, am I? You believe all the rubbish he’s come out with about You-Know-Who, do you? You reckon he’s telling the truth?” 

“Yeah, I do!” 

“Then you’re mad, too.” 

“Yeah? Well, unfortunately for you, pal, I’m also a prefect! Unless you want detention, watch your mouth!” 

Seamus stared at him for a few seconds, then got into bed and pulled the curtains shut, but the fabric fell defiantly on the floor instead. Dean’s shrug caught his attention. 

“My parents are Muggles, mate,” Dean was saying. “They don’t know nothing about no deaths at Hogwarts because I’m not stupid enough to tell them.” 

Betrayal shot through Seamus like a spike of lightning. “You don’t know my mother, she’ll weasel anything out of anyone! Anyway, your parents don’t get the _Prophet,_ they don’t know our headmaster’s been sacked from the… the Wizengamot and…” Seamus gestured angrily, unable to sign or say clearly what he wanted to. “Losing his marbles…” 

Neville spoke up and supported Harry, and Seamus frowned at Dean, signing a sarcastic _Thanks so much._

 _What did I do?_ Dean didn’t really want to know the answer. 

_Ron backed up Harry. You could’ve helped me._

_What, I’m not allowed to have different opinions?_

Seamus raised his eyebrows. _You think I’m out of order too, then?_

Dean shook his head, wanting to explain but acutely aware that Harry, Neville, and Ron were still in the room with them. _I did not say that._

Bending down to fix his bed hangings, Seamus pointedly turned his back to Dean. He did not make any further attempts to communicate before drawing the curtains tightly shut. 

Dean plopped down on his bed, frustrated. _Well,_ he couldn’t help thinking, _what a great start to the year._

—————————————————————————————————

Divination, as usual, stunk like week-old trash. Seamus pulled up a chair at Parvati and Lavender’s table. They welcomed him with open smiles and eagerly poured over the life lines of his palm. 

Seamus did not once look at Dean. 

Dean paired up with Neville who started talking immediately about his thrilling nightmare starring “A pair of scissors! But it had legs and was chasing me! And it was wearing my grandmother’s hat! What do you think it means, Dean?” 

No offense to Neville, but Dean had no idea what that dream could mean. He wished Seamus would look at him. 

Trelawney assigned them homework, adding to the massive workload which had been thrown at the fifth-years from their previous teachers. It was, after all, their OWL year, every professor felt obligated to remind them. Marks counted now, and students would do well to study the material…

Dean felt an intense urge to throw the material out of a window. Or possibly throw Seamus out of a window. That would get his attention, wouldn’t it? _“Teen Boy Receives Silent Treatment From Best Friend, Responds With Murder” —_ Rita Skeeter would have a field day. 

 

Frankly, the woman called Umbridge had seemed like a joke when she gave her speech in the Great Hall. However, the students were silent as they entered her classroom, unsure of how to act around her until they knew how strict she would be.  

Seamus took the seat next to Dean, still looking surly. He had clearly not forgotten about their fight, turning his head away when Dean tried to communicate. 

After a few minutes of reading silently as the teacher had instructed, Seamus elbowed his desk-mate, nodding his head to where Hermione Granger had her hand raised high up in the air and was staring daggers at Umbridge. 

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” The teacher said finally. 

“Not about the chapter, no,” Hermione said. 

“Well, we’re reading just now.” Umbridge addressed her student as one would a very small child. “If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.” 

“I’ve got a query about your course aims.” 

“And your name is…?” 

“Hermione Granger.” 

“ _Well_ , Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.” 

“ _Well_ , I don’t,” Hermione answered. “There’s nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells.” 

Dean frowned and read through Umbridge’s lilting print on the board again. 

“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron asked, interrupting Umbridge’s explanation. 

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. — ?” 

“Weasley.” Ron thrust his hand in the air. 

Umbridge promptly turned away. “Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?” 

“Yes— surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?” 

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” 

“No, but—”

The professor cut her off, and Dean decided that he did not like this woman at all. He raised his hand. 

“Hand up when you want to speak, Mr. Potter!” Umbridge finished interrupting Harry and turned to Dean. “And your name is?”

“Dean Thomas.”

“Well, Mr. Thomas?” 

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it? If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“I repeat, do you expect to be attacked during my classes?” She smiled sweetly at Dean. 

“ _No,_ but—”

“I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school, but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, not to mention some extremely dangerous half-breeds.” 

Dean felt a wave of anger. “If you mean Professor Lupin, he was the best we ever had—”

“ _Hand,_ Mr. Thomas!” 

As Umbridge turned away, Seamus tapped Dean’s arm. He signed, _What’s going on?_

_This bitch says we won’t use magic in her class and—_

“Excuse me,” Umbridge said, swooping down in front of them. “What do you think you two are doing?” 

She had noticed their signing. 

“Sorry, Professor,” Dean said. Seamus nodded in agreement. 

“I require you to pay attention in my class. Now tell me, what were you just doing?” 

The boys glanced at each other. Dolores directed her attention towards the one who had spoken yet. “What’s your name?” 

“Seamus Finnigan, ma’am.” Seamus schooled his face into blankness.

Umbridge drew back, confused. “What’s wrong with your voice, Mr. Finnigan?” 

Dean hissed, “There’s nothing _wrong_ with him.” 

The teacher ignored him. “Mr. Finnigan, tell me, what were you just doing with your hands?” 

“Uh, signing.” 

“Why, pray, were you doing that in my class? And _enunciate,_ please!” 

Seamus frowned, struggling to read her lips. “I couldn’t see your mouth as you spoke and didn’t understand what was going on. I only asked Dean to tell me what the conversation was about.” 

The students watched something click in Umbridge’s head. Disgust swooped down over her face. “You’re the deaf one, aren’t you?” 

Seamus nodded. 

“Please answer me with ‘yes, Professor’ or ‘no, Professor,” Mr. Finnigan. Now, I don’t want any more of that signing going on in my class, dear. It’s too distracting to the others, and you can learn just like everyone else.” 

“But he’s not like everyone else—” Dean said. 

Umbridge walked away. “It is my understanding that my predecessor…” 

Seamus looked at Dean coldly. He had encountered those words a million times before, from parents who didn’t want their kids playing with him, to students who were afraid to sit next to him, like deafness was a disease. _He’s not like everyone else._ And although he knew that Dean hadn’t meant to be cruel, that didn’t stop Seamus’ stomach from feeling like it was coated in metal. 

Dean realized his mistake, reaching out to sign in Seamus’ line of vision. _Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, man._

Seamus looked to the front of the room, where students were reacting to something Potter had just said. By the way Neville fell off his chair, the statement was most likely involving You-Know-Who’s name.

Umbridge looked furious. “Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Mr. Thomas, what did I just tell you about waving your hands about in that infernal way in my classroom?” 

Dean stopped signing and let his hands thunk onto the desk. Seamus still wouldn’t look at him. 

 

After class, they had a free period but Seamus had disappeared, which only added to Dean’s bad mood. He sunk into a chair in the common room, intending to sulk until the next class. 

Lavender and Parvati approached him and stood there with arms linked and hands on hips. 

“What’s got your knickers in a knot?” Lavender asked. 

“Nothing,” Dean replied. 

“Well, something has.” 

Parvati asked, “Where’s Seamus?” 

“How should I know? I’m not his keeper.” Dean scowled. 

The two girls exchanged knowing glances. 

“Are you fighting?” Said Lavender, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. 

Dean huffed out a breath. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, come on, get up,” Parvati said. “Pouting doesn’t suit you. We’re going to hang out in your dorm room and you’re going to be good company, okay?” 

“What?” Dean said. “Can you even get into the boys’ dorm?” 

Lavender shrugged, pulling him up. “Hermione Granger always does. Haven’t you ever noticed her hanging out with Harry and Ron in your room? Let’s go!” 

So they went. Lavender brought her radio and played her angry girl-band Wizard punk rock. Parvati tried to curl her hair with her wand, Lavender chewed bubblegum, and they sat sometimes on Dean’s bed with him, sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the bed facing his. 

Dean got out his sketchpad and drew raised fists ready to start a revolution and hands making rude gestures. He wrote STICK IT TO THE MAN on the bottom of the paper, and Lavender laughed and scrawled _Feminism is cool_ in the top corner. Parvati peered over and added _Fight like a girl!_

“Wait, I’m taking a picture,” Parvati commanded. “Dean, show us what you got.” 

He turned the paper to face the camera. Lavender, sitting next to him, held up the peace sign and blew a pink bubble. 

The camera clicked, and Parvati laughed. “Yeah, that’s good.” 

“Let us see!” Lavender reached over for the camera and passed it to Dean. 

“Okay, Parvati, pose,” The boy instructed. 

She shook her mass of recently-curled hair back from her face and gave the camera a sultry look over her shoulder. Dean took the picture, then took another as Lavender snorted and Parvati burst out laughing. 

By the time they left, Dean was feeling much better. 

—————————————————————————————————

Seamus walked up to Dean a few days later, pulling up a chair across from him. Dean looked surprised. “Hey.” 

 _I hate fighting with you,_ Seamus signed. 

Dean closed his book. _Me too. I’m sorry._

Seamus shook his head. _No, don’t be. I’m the one who should apologize._

 _Screw you, I can be sorry too._ Dean grinned and Seamus smiled back. The taller boy glanced around the library, then whispered, “Look, what if we just don’t talk about Harry?” 

Seamus nodded, content with that solution. They would accept that each person had their own opinions and move on. _Since you’re so smart, help me with this essay._

Dean rolled his eyes, not stopping the smile that crept over his face as he watched Seamus bite his lip in concentration. It was good to have his friend back. 

—————————————————————————————————

A few weeks later, Luna Lovegood wandered over to the Gryffindor table. “Hello, boys.” 

“Hey, Luna,” Dean said around his mouthful of food. Seamus only waved a hand. 

“Any idea where Ginny is?” 

“Ask Ron.” Dean took a swig of orange juice. 

“Hmm,” said Luna. “No, I don’t think I will. He looks tense. I bet it’s about the Quidditch stuff that’s going on. Speaking of which, are you trying out?” 

Luna signed along with her sentence as best she could, which was enough for Seamus to get the gist of what she was asking. He shook his head. 

Dean shrugged. “I’m not good enough.” 

Seamus frowned. _You could be. We would just need to practice. You’re pretty good already._

_You want to?_

_Sure._ He grinned.

“Well, in that case, you should go out today.” Luna tapped an erratic rhythm on Seamus’ shoulder, alerting him to the fact that she was talking. “It’s cold but sunny.” 

“Will do. Bye, Luna!” Dean called. 

She waved over her shoulder, already waltzing away. 

Luna was right — it was cold. Dean could see their breath ghosting in the air as he and Seamus walked out to the pitch. Leaves flashing like Gryffindor colors crunched under their feet. 

A zephyr played around their faces as the boys took to the air. Dean felt the familiar, pleasant drop in his stomach as the broom rose quickly and grinned at Seamus. His friend took out a small paper airplane from his pocket and pointed it at Dean. 

 _That’s not going to fly up here,_ Dean signed, making his gestures large so Seamus could see him at the other end of the pitch. 

 _One person throws it and the other has to fly and catch it._ Seamus launched the paper contraption in the air, where it stayed for a moment before the wind began to buffet it to the ground. 

Dean urged his broom forward, reaching out to catch the airplane and throwing it back at Seamus, who in turn flew up to take hold of it. 

They did that for a while before Seamus accidentally set the airplane on fire. (Neither of them knew how it happened.) Then, they raced back and forth around the pitch, occasionally crashing into each other and laughing. 

They were heading back into the castle when Dean stopped suddenly. 

 _What?_ Seamus signed. 

_I hear music._

_Music? Are you going mad?_

Dean shrugged. _Maybe._

He walked forward slowly, head tilted. Seamus followed. 

Dean led them away from the castle, to the Herbology greenhouses, where they found Neville, Luna, and Professor Sprout all gathered around a large swaying plant. The cause of the music was Luna, who stopped singing when she saw Dean and Seamus round the corner. 

“Hello again, boys!” She greeted them. 

 _What’s going on?_ Seamus signed. 

“Oh, I’m singing to this plant!” Luna said, like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. 

Dean exchanged a glance with Seamus. “But, uh… why?” 

“We’re trying to see the effects of it. So far music has only made it dance, which I think is rather nice, but — oh, dear.” The plant had reached out a vine and grabbed Luna tightly by the wrist, which she regarded ruefully. “I think perhaps it’s upset that I stopped.” 

Neville prodded the plant sharply in the roots, and it released its captive. “Luna, would you mind singing again?” 

She beamed and looked at Professor Sprout, who nodded. “Go ahead, dear.” 

Luna opened her mouth and started her song over, a haunting melody about the winter wind. The plant raised its leaves in the air and began to sway again. 

 _Seamus, come here,_ Luna signed, noticing that he was looking confused. Her song didn’t falter as she waved the deaf boy over. 

Luna took Seamus’ hand and placed it over her vocal cords, smiling when he made a face. 

Once he got over the initial awkwardness of it, Seamus realized the genius of what Luna had done. As she sang, he could feel the vibrations move through her throat, although he couldn’t hear it. Sometimes a phrase started with the vibrations coming from the bottom of her throat and moved up, sometimes they dipped down and then swung back up into an upper part. 

The plant burst into small white flowers, and Luna stopped singing. Seamus took a step back. 

“That was gorgeous, Miss Lovegood. How fascinating!” The teacher pulled on her glasses and began examining the plant. 

Seamus caught Luna’s eye, and signed, _Thank you._

She smiled. 

—————————————————————————————————

 Almost a month passed. Ron got onto the Quidditch team, and Seamus and Dean threw him a party in the common room. Hermione Granger decided that she was going to free all house-elves. “What’s a house-elf?” Dean asked, leading to a ten-minute rant about slavery and Wizarding prejudice against other species. 

Umbridge had apparently decided that her teaching method was to make her students sit quietly every class and read. Dean doodled in the margins of his book and Seamus wondered what would happen if Umbridge’s desk suddenly turned into a goat. He watched Dean draw him tiny pictures. Occasionally, the pair caught someone else’s bored eye and made long-suffering faces at them. 

October snuck on them, bringing with it a Hogsmeade weekend. Dean and Seamus wandered around the village, stopping to get butterbeer and seeing who could drink theirs faster. 

They met up with the Weasley twins purchasing multiple somethings at Zonko’s and browsed around there for a while. Seamus found a mirror that changed the way your face looked and suggested that they prank Ron with it. Dean threw his head back, laughing, and Seamus held up the mirror to his face, turning it into an owl’s. 

Dean tapped his shoulder as Seamus put the mirror back. “Hey, after this I’m going to a… meeting, I guess. You should really come.” 

_What is it?_

Dean sighed. _Don’t get mad._

Seamus frowned. 

“Okay, it’s Hermione… and Ron… and Harry.” 

Seamus started to turn away, waving a hand in dismissal, but Dean grabbed his arm. “No, wait. It’s like, they want to learn actual defense magic, or teach it. But anyway, it’s something besides Umbridge.” 

Seamus signed something quickly, but Dean shook his head, confused, so he spoke instead. “You broke the rule.” 

“What rule?” 

“The rule that we don’t talk about Harry Potter.” 

 _What?_ Dean signed. “That was an unspoken rule!”

“It’s still a rule!” Other people were turning to look at them. Seamus signed, _I told you I don’t want anything to do with him._

“Neville and Lavender are coming,” Dean cajoled. “And the Patil twins.” 

_I said no._

_Well, I’m going._

Seamus threw him a sarcastic thumbs-up. _Fine!_

 _Fine!_ Dean copied the gesture. _I’m gonna go then!_

_Fine!_

Seamus watched Dean storm out. He noticed a nearby Hufflepuff watching with superior pity in his eyes and made an ugly face at him. 

“Fighting with your boyfriend?” The Hufflepuff — Zeke? Zach? Zacharias! — asked, sneering. 

Seamus made a rude gesture at him and turned away, ears burning. 

 

When he met back up with Dean at the castle, they looked at each other guiltily. 

 _How was the meeting?_ Seamus asked. 

Dean shrugged. _Okay. He had some interesting things to say._

_Are you going to go again?_

Again, Dean’s shoulders were raised and dropped. _We’ll see._ He started a few hesitant signs and then changed them for another halfway. _Thank you… Sorry for…_

_Me too._

Seamus grinned, elbowing Dean in the side. Dean laughed and flicked him in the forehead. 

They were okay. 

—————————————————————————————————

Umbridge, not content with terrorizing students, started inspecting teachers, leading to even more stress in the classroom. Divination, always a trainwreck, became even more of one as Umbridge started hounding Trelawney. This battle was mildly interesting, although when the addled Seer got angry she became somewhat of a menace to her students. One memorable time, right after she had been put on probation, Trelawney tried to hand out books and ended up throwing them to her students, nearly clipping Seamus in the head. 

 _She smells like alcohol,_ Seamus signed to Dean, who sniffed the air and found that he was right. 

_Is there a law against teaching while drunk?_

Seamus raised his eyebrows. _If not, there should be._

Dean grinned, taking out a scrap of parchment and writing, ‘There’s a cause for Hermione to get behind.’

Pretending to write down what he found in his tea leaves, Seamus snorted, grabbing the paper. ‘SADT — Students Against Drunk Teaching.’

“What’s going on over here?” Trelawney craned down to look at them. 

Dean hurriedly shoved the paper beneath his book. “Nothing, Professor.” 

 

Neville wasn’t in the common room that night. Neither were Lavender, Parvati, Ginny, the Golden Trio, or Dean. Seamus went to the library and studied. 

By the time the library closed, Seamus’ dorm room was still empty. He was getting ready for bed when the rest of his room burst in. They were talking among themselves but stopped when they saw him. 

 _You’re late,_ Seamus signed to Neville. _What happened?_

 _Lost track of time._ Neville smiled apologetically and pulled out his pajamas. 

Once the other boys were in bed, Seamus got up. Although it was dark, his feet were steady, making their familiar path over to Dean’s bed. He knocked softly on the wooden bedpost. 

Dean pulled back his curtains and gestured Seamus in, where he sat on the edge of the bed. Dean lit his wand, lending a soft light so they could see each other without disturbing their snoring roommates. 

 _How was it?_ Seamus signed. 

Dean held up a finger and reached beneath the bed for his sketchpad. Flipping to a blank page, he wrote, ‘It was really really good. You should’ve come. It was this big old room filled with like books and cool Dark Detector stuff. We practiced spells. Harry’s a great teacher.’ 

‘Lots of Gryffindors?’ Seamus wrote. 

‘Yeah. Some other houses too.’ 

‘Make sure Umbridge doesn’t find out.’ 

Dean waggled his eyebrows. _We’ll be careful._

Seamus waited until Dean finished yawning to sign again. _Go to sleep, idiot._

_You’re the one keeping me up._

The Irish boy grinned. _Good night, then._

_Night._

The wand’s light vanished, and Seamus tiptoed back to his own bed, already falling asleep. 

—————————————————————————————————

“Dean!” Hagrid roared. “How are ya?” 

Dean grinned, pleased to have his teacher back, even if he did look a little beat up. “Good, sir.” 

Hagrid noticed Seamus and beamed, signing a clumsy hello. Seamus smiled back. He had always liked Hagrid. 

 _I wonder where he’s been,_ Dean signed as the class headed into the Forest with some chagrin. 

Seamus glanced at the dark trees suspiciously. _No idea._

He couldn’t hear his classmates, but he bet they were whispering to each other. Malfoy in particular looked pale as the Forbidden Forest enveloped them. If the students walked a bit closer together then normal, no one wanted to be the one to call it out. 

Neither Dean nor Seamus could see the thestrals, although they did see a greater horror — Umbridge, marching towards the group, bearing a clipboard and an abominable green hat. 

 _Here we go,_ Dean signed. They glanced at each other. 

Hagrid greeted her cheerfully, but Umbridge had a look of distaste on her face. She spoke to him as one would to an oozing slug. Seamus felt Dean’s hand clench into fists and laid a warning palm over them. With great effort, Dean unballed his fingers. 

“Glad yeh found the place all right! Well, as you can see — or, can you? I dunno, anyway, we’re doin’ thestrals today—”

Seamus was in a prime position to see both Hagrid’s and Umbridge’s mouths as they spoke. He watched the woman cup an exaggerated hand over her ear and suddenly wished he was anywhere else. 

“I’m sorry! What did you say?” Umbridge smiled nastily. 

“Er, thestrals?” Hagrid looked mildly confused. He flapped his arms in a demonstration. “Big winged horses, yeh know!”

“Has… to…resort… to crude… sign… language,” Umbridge said, making a note on her clipboard. 

Seamus’ breath hitched. 

“Well, anyway… what was I sayin’?” Hagrid turned back to the class. 

“Appears… to have… short term… memory… loss.” 

Hagrid took a deep breath. He kept talking for a few more minutes, trying to teach as normal, but Umbridge kept interrupting him with phrases like “Teacher is unable to understand common English,” and “Are you aware the Ministry classifies thestrals as dangerous?” 

Seamus felt like throwing up. 

“No—come on! I mean, thestrals have jus’ got a bad reputation because o’ the death thing, people used ter think they were bad omens, didn’ they? Jus’ didn’ understand.” Hagrid cast an anxious glance at his class. 

When Umbridge spoke again, it was very slowly, and by the way she inclined her head, Seamus guessed it was too loud. “Please continue teaching. I am going to walk…” — She brought her legs up and down in an exaggerated version of walking — “among the students” — she raised her eyebrows and pointed at the class — “and… ask… them… questions.” She pointed to her mouth and mimed talking. 

Seamus turned and ran, noticing from the pain in his arm that he had knocked forcefully into Dean’s shoulder as he left. His fists were balled as he broke through the trees to the clearness of the castle grounds. 

The grass was smelling fresh and green, the sun was clouded over, and Seamus hated the hot tears that burned against his eyes. He felt like a weakling, like every insult that had ever been flung at him throughout the years. 

Someone grabbed his arm, and Seamus spun around, ready to fight. But it was Dean. 

 _I followed you — hey, what’s wrong?_ The darker boy surveyed his friend with concern. 

Seamus bit his lips, wrenching his head out of Dean’s gentle hands. If anything, Dean’s kindness made the tears want to spill over even more. _Pussy._ Umbridge’s mocking face as she pretended to sign at Hagrid came to mind again. _Freak._

Despite his best intentions, Seamus was crying. Water flowed over his cheeks, red with humiliation, the salt only irritating them. 

Dean grabbed Seamus, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend. Seamus took a shuddering breath and Dean felt his heart contract. He pressed Seamus’ face against his shoulder, holding him as close as he could, trying to provide some comfort. 

“It’s okay,” Dean whispered, although he knew Seamus couldn’t hear him. “It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.” 

Seamus drew back a few minutes later, wiping furiously at his eyes. _Sorry._

Dean shook his head. _It’s alright._

_I feel so—_

“You’re not stupid. Hey, Seamus. Look at me.” Dean ran his thumb over a drying tear track on the other boy’s cheek. “You’re not stupid and you’re not weak, and don’t give me that face, ‘cause I know exactly what you’re thinking and it’s not true. You’re human, got it? And Umbridge is a total bitch.” 

Seamus let out a quiet laugh, and Dean smiled. 

 _Thank you._ Seamus looked away from Dean, the prolonged eye contact making him feel weird. (Not bad-weird, just… weird.) _She really is a bitch, yeah?_

 _Absolutely._ Somehow, they had sunk to the ground, and Dean suddenly realized that the marble steps were cold. 

Seamus stood up, reaching out a hand to Dean, who took it. _Can’t wait until she leaves._

_Me too, man. Me too._

_—————————————————————————————————————_

“I can’t do it, I’ll look like a prat.” 

“Seamus, you already look like a prat. Just get it over with.” 

Christmas break had come and gone all too fast. Dean and Seamus kept up their rule of not talking about Harry Potter, although Dean kept quietly going to those meetings — the D.A., they were calling themselves. When the students came back from break, there had been a mass break-out from Azkaban, and Umbridge had gotten even more ruthless. 

 _This is real,_ Seamus had thought. _This is happening now._

There had been a Hogsmeade weekend recently, and a few days after, Dean had cornered Seamus in the library, forcing him into a seat and shoving a magazine under his nose. 

 _Read this,_ Dean had signed, turning to an interview with Harry Potter. _It’s Luna’s dad’s magazine._

“We’re not even good friends with Luna,” Seamus had protested. 

Dean gave him a look and repeated, _Read it._

So Seamus had. 

Now, they stood outside the Transfiguration classroom waiting for the rest of their teacher to get there. 

Dean elbowed Seamus. _Here he comes. Do it now._

The deaf boy made a face, but stepped in front of Harry Potter as he joined the throng of students. Seamus looked at Harry’s knee and muttered, “I just wanted to say, I read the interview in that magazine, and I believe you. And I’ve sent a copy to me mam.” 

He glanced up and saw Harry beam joyfully. Seamus grinned hesitantly back. 

 

“Now you have no excuse not to come to a D.A. meeting,” Dean said later. 

 _I don’t know,_ Seamus signed. Yes, he and Harry had made up, but everyone else in the D.A. had been going since the very beginning. What if they didn’t want him there? 

 _Come on,_ Dean begged. _It’s really great._ He stretched over the small table holding their chessboard and drummed on Seamus’ head with a quill. 

Seamus pushed him off, feigning exasperation. _Fine, I’ll come. For you._

Their eyes met. Dean looked away and cleared his throat. On the board, Seamus’ rook captured one of Dean’s men. 

 

“Seamus!” Ron yelled when the boys walked in. “Good to see you, man!” 

Hermione walked up to them, beaming. “Dean, you picked the perfect time to bring him. We’re doing Patronuses today!” 

“Alright, everyone!” Harry called. “Last lesson before Easter, let’s get to work!” 

The wisped-silver animals soared around the room or sputtered from wands. Dean practiced next to Seamus. They stopped to watch a silver swan swoop around the ceiling, and Seamus saw people applaud. The room had a much different feel than Umbridge’s lessons. 

Something burst out of Seamus’ wand, silver vapor taking a four-legged shape. He yelled, “Harry, I think I’m doing it! Ah— it’s gone — but it was something hairy, Harry!” 

Harry gave him a thumbs-up from across the room. 

 _Nice!_ Dean signed. _What was it?_

Seamus shrugged. _No idea. Any luck?_

Dean shook his head, looking mildly frustrated. 

The door opened, and a quaking house-elf came in. Seamus frowned, grabbing Dean’s arm and pointing. _Does this happen a lot?_

Harry bent down to talk to the elf, and Dean started signing. _I can’t hear everything they’re saying. The elf says someone found out… Umbridge found out!_

Harry straightened up and said something to the room of students, who all rushed for the door at once. Dean and Seamus ran with the rest, turning left to an empty corridor. The boys looked at each other, then ran into a nearby classroom. 

Seamus shut the door. _What now?_

It was almost nine at night, and the classroom was dimly lit. 

 _Wait,_ Dean signed, pressing his ear to the door. _I hear her._

Seamus stood there, useless as Dean listened. 

Dean stepped back, looking panicked. _She’s splitting her students up to come look down the corridors. They’re gonna find us._

 _They’ll know we were running,_ Seamus signed, marking his racing heartbeat and the way they were both out of breath. 

Dean paced, then stopped suddenly. _Okay, don’t get mad._

Seamus made a face.

 _No, just wait._ Dean stopped signing and looked uncertain. “If you found two students in an empty classroom and they were both out of breath, what would you think they were doing?” 

 _Snogging,_ Seamus signed immediately. 

“Right. So maybe… if when Umbridge walks in, _we_ were… I mean, to avert suspicion.” 

_What?_

Dean took a deep breath. “Umbridge wouldn’t think anything of it if she walked in on us making out.” 

Now Seamus understood what Dean was babbling about. _Making out._ With Dean. 

 _It was a stupid idea,_ Dean signed, drawing the wrong conclusion from Seamus’ silence. _Sorry. Forget it._

_No. It… might work._

“If you’re not comfortable with it—” Dean started. 

_I said it’s fine._

Dean looked like he was about to argue, but stiffened. _Someone’s coming._

There was no time for more deliberation. Seamus reached up, and Dean bent down, and they crashed together. 

Their teeth knocked into each other, and both of them winced. Dean tried to keep an ear out for the approaching footsteps, but then they were kissing again and nothing else mattered. 

There was lightning traveling throughout Dean’s body, leaving every neuron and blood cell quaking in its path. Somehow his hands had started to move of their own will and were currently roaming through Seamus’ hair. Dean wondered if it was possible for lips to bruise, testing his theory on the other boy’s eager mouth. 

Seamus _growled_ and pulled Dean closer. In the cheesy romance movies his mam made him watch, the kisses were always perfectly executed, and the woman usually swooned. Kissing Dean — _kissing Dean —_ was far from perfect, but Seamus couldn’t have cared less. This was better — he would take _this_ over a movie any day. Something in his stomach unraveled. 

Seamus felt the moment Dean froze. He pulled away and looked at the door, where Gregory Goyle’s tie gleamed next to his _Inquisitorial Squad_ badge. The boy’s jaw had dropped open in an “oh.” 

Light from the corridor spilled in, illuminating the room and the boys standing in it, panting. Goyle studied Seamus’ rumpled hair and the odd look on Dean’s face. His jaw dropped a little lower. 

“Uh,” The Slytherin said. “Er. Sorry.” 

He backed out of the room and closed the door. 

They didn’t look at each other for a long moment. Dean was acutely aware that his heart was racing. He could hear Seamus getting back his breath at the same time. 

“Hey,” Seamus said, and Dean jumped violently. 

Seamus did his little chuckle. He signed, _Sorry._

Dean shook his head, waving a hand. He smiled slightly. _It’s okay._

Suddenly, Seamus wished that he could talk to Dean without maintaing eye contact. He opted for staring at the other boy’s hands, but then realized that it seemed like he was looking at Dean’s crotch, which — nope. Seamus hurriedly signed, _Your plan worked._

Dean nodded, letting out a little exhale. Seamus watched his lips and then shook himself. 

 _Ready to go back? To the dorm._ Dean grimaced, silently cursing himself for being awkward. 

Seamus nodded. _Did you see the look on Goyle’s face?_

Dean laughed, and the tension dissipated. 

 

 _He’s your best mate,_ Seamus thought later, lying in bed. But he could still feel the ghost of Dean’s hands in his hair and the way his lips had yielded… 

A nagging realization pushed to the front of Seamus’ mind. He tried to avoid it like usual, but it refused to leave, dancing viciously in his brain until Seamus accepted it. He thought of Dean’s hands as a test, and the fiery feeling in his stomach waved. 

The deaf boy put his hands over his face and thought, _Crap._

—————————————————————————————————

They didn’t talk about it. Dean pretended like it had never happened, and Seamus followed his lead. There was a slight increase in insults from Slytherins who had obviously heard about the incident from Goyle, but most of the fifth-years were too stressed with exams to devote much of their time to anything else. 

The common room was filled with students fervently studying. Dean checked Seamus’ pronunciation of a Substantive Charm while Lavender and Parvati raced their pencil cases around the table. 

“We’re practicing locomotion charms!” Parvati protested when Dean glared at them, finally losing his patience after being hit in the arm several times. 

“You’re procrastinating,” he told her. 

Seamus hid a grin as Parvati rolled her eyes. Lavender turned Dean’s hair pink in revenge. 

 

When the Weasley twins made their spectacular exit, all of Umbridge’s credibility went with them. She became the subject of numerous pranks, and as a result became even more vindictive during her classes. Seamus thought it was hell.

Dean slipped him a Weasley product before class, a pill from the Skiving Snackboxes, explaining that Lee Jordan had given him some for free. _If class gets awful you can use it to get out of there,_ he had signed. 

Umbridge looked more angry than usual today, so the class opted to pretend to read as usual. Seamus and Dean played Hangman. 

While writing the letter X, Dean’s quill jolted. Seamus gave him an odd look, then craned his neck around to see Umbridge staring at him, mouth moving and skin tinged a blotchy red. She was clearly yelling at him, and by the look on Dean’s face, she was giving it her all. 

Dean clenched his fist, and Seamus laid a hand on his arm, signing, _Don’t do anything._

 _She’s screaming at you._ Dean looked upset. 

Seamus shrugged. Umbridge, annoyed with their lack of attention, stomped over to them and knocked the book of Seamus’ desk. The rest of the class jumped. Seamus just stared at her. 

“—not fit to be a wizard, a malfunction that should be—” 

This close, Seamus could see the words she was forming. He looked away, where Dean was barely containing his rage, where Neville looked aghast, where Hermione was clearly contemplating murder. By the way her eyes seared into the teacher, it wouldn’t be painless. 

Seamus cracked a smile and locked eyes with Harry, who had yelled at Umbridge in their very first lesson. Then he looked back at Dean. 

A rough hand grabbed his chin sharply, forcing him to look back at its owner. Umbridge leaned close to him, her anger only increasing. He saw the words “disgrace, you freak—” and turned his head away. Dean grinned as Seamus quickly took the Weasley candy. 

Blood started spurting from Seamus’ nose immediately. He looked back at Umbridge and said purposefully, “Professor, I need to go to the hospital wing.” 

“What is wrong with you?” Umbridge asked, watching in horror as the blood ran down his face. 

Seamus stood up and walked calmly to the door. He looked back triumphantly and said in his too loud, never quite right voice, “I’ve got Umbridge-itis.” 

The classroom reacted behind him, Neville falling off his chair. Dean threw his hands up in the air, mouth shaping an “OHHH!” Hermione’s jaw dropped in a smile. Ron put both hands on either side of his face. Umbridge went white. 

Seamus smiled and walked out. 

—————————————————————————————————

Somehow, they all survived the examinations. (“Barely!” Ron said.) Dean and Seamus planned a party in the common room, bickering over the amount of butterbeers they would need to get from the thriving student black-market. 

“Harold Dingle reckons he could sell us some firewhiskey…” Dean called to Harry, who was running out of the room. 

“Harold Dingle is a crook,” Seamus said, waiting until Dean looked at him to sign, _Just look at his name._

 _It’s ridiculous,_ Dean agreed. 

_I wonder what Harry was going to do._

“Save the world, probably.” Dean said, only half-joking. 

—————————————————————————————————

The next day, Dean saw Ginny sitting by herself in the common room as he and Seamus were heading down to breakfast. 

 _I’ll meet you down there,_ he signed to Seamus, who nodded and clapped him on the back. 

“Hey,” Dean said, sitting next to Ginny. 

She looked at him and smiled wanly. “Hey.” 

“Everything alright?” 

She shrugged. “I fought in a battle last night. Broke my ankle… I mean, Madame Pomfrey healed it right away, but.” 

The sun shone in through the windows and set fire to Ginny’s hair. Dean thought he might like to draw her sometime. “But?” 

She sighed. “It just all became so real, you know? All of a sudden, we’re in the Ministry and there are _Death Eaters_ surrounding us!” Ginny let out a rueful laugh. “He’s really back now. We’re gonna fight him, we’re going to be at war soon.” 

“Wow.” Dean laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Well, I mean, if you need to talk about it… I’m here.” 

Ginny smiled. “Thanks, Dean. That’s really… thanks.” 

“Come on,” Dean said. “Want to eat some breakfast?”

The girl stood up, smiling blindingly. “You know what? I would.”  

 

When Dean finally came down to breakfast, he did so grinning and accompanying Ginny and Luna. 

 _Luna found us in the hall._ He sat down next to Seamus, stealing a piece of toast. 

 _The Ministry is believing it now,_ Seamus signed. _V-O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T._

 _I know._ At Seamus’ questioning look, Dean added, _Ginny told me._

Seamus felt Dean elbow him and looked back to watch his friend speak. 

“By the way, guess what?” Dean said. “I think I'm gonna ask out Ginny.”

 _Wow._ Seamus raised his eyebrows, unsure of how he felt about this new development. 

Dean nodded, grinning. 

The Irish boy looked down at his breakfast. The Ministry had recognized that Voldemort was back and Dean was going to ask Ginny out. Seamus looked around the Great Hall and wondered, _what happens now?_


	6. Year 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm sorry! This chapter is rushed because I felt really bad for being gone so long... so I just tried to get it up. Hope it's okay! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr under the username bookwyrrm. (Ahh if I knew how to attach links I would!) Come yell at me over there for not updating :P

_Seamus_ —

_Did you get your OWLs? My mum nearly flipped when they came. I swear she was more stressed than me! But I did okay overall — how about you?_

_Ginny finally came over my place the other day. Lots of teasing from my sisters. It’s weird that we haven’t hung out with her more at Hogwarts — she’s really something. Feisty, like you._

_We saw some Wizarding play together. Apparently the actors in it are super famous — Raget Graylock and Yaslov Gubesmetchz. It was pretty neat — loads of action and cool fight scenes. Anyway, the main lady character was played by someone named Edna Selene and she was supposed to be the love interest… I think? I’m pretty sure the two guy characters were shagging throughout the whole thing though. (The play was called_ Wands Before Blondes, _Seamus. What kind of euphemism is that??)_

_Anyway thanks for lending me this owl for the summer. It was really nice of your mum to let me use her owl’s new baby. (Owlet?) But my sisters think he’s the cutest thing ever, so if he comes back spoiled and fat don’t blame me._

_Dean_

_—————————————————————————————————————_

“Oh, hey, there he is!” Dean slipped his hand from Ginny’s at the sight of a familiar thatch of hair approaching and grinned. He opened the sliding door of the train car and hung out of it, waving. 

Seamus saw him, broke out into a smile, and waved back. Theodore Nott ducked with a grimace as Seamus’ hand nearly hit him in the crowded train hallway. 

Dean gestured him over, still grinning. _How was your summer?_

Seamus shrugged and gave a thumbs-up. _Pretty good. Yours?_

_Good!_

Dean shut the door behind them, and Seamus was faced with a smiling Ginny Weasley, who waved enthusiastically. She was tan from the summer sun, hair attractively tousled, and sporting a Quidditch jersey. She looked gorgeous. Seamus felt his smile vanish. 

 _Hi, Seamus._ Ginny signed the letters of his name somewhat clumsily, fingers tripping over each other. Seamus was suddenly struck with the memory of her first year at Hogwarts, when he had spoken to her on the train and she had asserted that everyone should be taught to sign. Ginny had a similar expression on her face now, although she had grown up more. The set of her jaw was stubborn, her eyebrows raised in welcome, and her eyes the slightest bit unsure. 

 _Why is she nervous?_ Seamus wondered. But he smiled at her, suddenly endeared to her bitten nails and shiny lip gloss. He signed, _You take OWLs this year?_

“Oh, God don’t remind me.” Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “That’s all Mum’s been talking about since Harry and Ron got theirs.” 

“I’ve always thought it weird how we jump right from school into a career,” Dean said. “I mean, Muggles go to college and then take some time to figure out their life, but we’re asked to figure out how we want to work for the Ministry at fifteen? No thanks.” 

“You’ve got an artist’s mind, babe.” Ginny grinned. “I mean, that’s how it’s always been done.” 

Dean looked at Seamus and signed, _Back me up._

Seamus shrugged. _I see your point._

“So do I!” Ginny said. “And I’m not trying to, like, invalidate it or anything.” 

“Yeah, I know you aren’t.” Dean wrapped an arm around his girlfriend as the compartment door slid open once more. 

Zacharias Smith stood in the doorway, wearing his customary sneer. “‘Lo.” 

The Gryffindors sat up straighter. Ginny said, “What do you want, Smith?” 

“Hey, is that any way to treat an old friend?” 

The three seated exchanged looks. Dean answered, “You’ve never referred to us as your friends before. Finally realized how great we are?” 

“Hardly.” Zacharias took a seat. “Hey, Weasley, you were at the Ministry last year when all that shit went done, right?” 

“Yeah, I was,” Ginny said, looking suspicious. “Why?”  

“Just wondering. There’s loads of rumors flying around, you know. Seems like it’s up to the people who were actually there to put a stop to them.” 

“Oh, I get what this is. You want me to tell you what happened.” 

Zacharias shrugged. 

“Well, tough. I don’t want to.” 

The conversation kept going — Zacharias asking why, Ginny answering: “For one, you’re a prick; two, you never keep your mouth shut…” to the Hufflepuff’s growing offense — but Seamus turned to look at Dean. He signed, _Has she ever told you?_

Dean shook his head. 

Seamus saw Zacharias flinch out of the corner of his eye and looked back to see Ginny standing. 

“Because it’s none of your business, and I’ve said no about a thousand times! No, I will not tell you, and if you ask me again I’ll hex you!” 

Dean stood up, too. “Okay, let’s stay calm, here. Smith, you heard her. I think you’d better leave.” 

Zacharias sent the two of them a nasty look. “Right, you’re the latest on her long list of boyfriends, aren’t you, Thomas? Bet you’re happy about that. What happened, you got tired of Finnigan here? Wanted something new?” 

Dean gave an angry retort, but Ginny’s attention was caught by Seamus, who had been following the conversation and turned white when Smith made his last comment. Something hot and angry was boiling up through Ginny’s guts.

“I warned you.” She whipped out her wand and hexed him without further ado. 

Seamus and Dean jumped back as Zacharias was attacked by flying creatures who seemed attracted to his face. Ginny shoved him out into the corridor, smirking. She had always been proud of her Bat Bogey Hex. 

 _Wow!_ Seamus signed. 

 _Thanks,_ she signed back, before kissing Dean. “That’s that taken care of.” 

“Excuse me, young lady,” A voice boomed from outside. Ginny’s stomach dropped as she faced a new teacher with his hands on hips. (Fred and George would be proud of her for getting detention before school even started, although she doubted her mother’s reaction would be as benign.) 

The man suddenly broke out into a smile. “That was some of the finest spell work I’ve ever seen in my life! I’m Professor Slughorn! Don’t fret about detention dear, I have no doubt that poor boy deserved it. Oh, a Gryffindor, are you? Then you know Neville here! He and I were just on our way to dinner, why don’t you join us?” 

Neville peered out from the teacher’s bulk and signed, _Help!_

 

When Ginny was whisked away by Slughorn and a reluctant Neville, Seamus and Dean were left in the compartment. 

 _Ginny is… fiery?_ Seamus signed. 

“Yeah she’s great. It’s like being in awe, slightly terrified, and turned on at the same time.” 

_So she’s the same way, even when you’re dating?_

“What are you asking me — if she’s a hot kisser?” Dean laughed. 

Seamus was one hundred percent certain that he did not want to be having this conversation, or any variation of it. He wondered if Ginny was better at kissing than he was. He wondered what it would be like to make out with Dean as often as Ginny seemed to be doing. He wondered why his brain seemed determined to make him think about things he did not want to think about. 

 _Hello?_ Dean waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. _You okay?_

Seamus forced a smile and looked away. 

—————————————————————————————————

_Do you think Snape will be a good teacher?_

Seamus glanced around the dimly lit classroom. _We’ve had him before._

 _But not DADA._ Dean warily eyed a poster showing a woman screaming in agony. _Does he just have these to look at?_

“Your fullest attention, please.” The professor shot a look at the two boys, who hastily dropped their hands to the desk. 

Seamus didn’t harbor any extreme affection for Snape, but he appreciated the way the man signed along as he explained non-verbal spells to the class. From the look on Snape’s face, Seamus could only imagine that his words contained an equal amount of condescension. 

Dean looked gloomily at Seamus. This year promised much homework and frustration on the horizon the way one’s mother promises a dentist appointment next week. 

Snape had called Harry up to the front, speaking to him with his wand out and a nasty look on his face. 

 _Five Sickles Harry snaps before class is over,_ Dean signed discreetly. 

Seamus grinned. _Seven if he does it in the next two minutes._

They shook on it and turned to watch the front of the classroom intently. 

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?” 

Harry stood very straight. “Yes.” 

“Yes, _sir.”_

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.” 

Ron looked back at Dean and Seamus, delighted. All three grinned at Harry, who was currently receiving detention but looking like he didn’t mind too much. Seamus elbowed Dean lightly — _pay up —_ who sighed in defeat. 

—————————————————————————————————

Red leaves danced around the stone tower, following the arch of the wind. Dean drew his robes closer around himself for warmth, shifting on the grass. Around him, a few students lounged around talking or studying, although most preferred to put their homework off for the next day, if they could. After all, it was Saturday and they needed a break since school had started in full, bringing with it tests and homework. 

Dean had seized the opportunity to draw, hurrying out after breakfast with his sketchpad and pencils. He didn’t know where Seamus was, which was probably a good thing. Whenever Dean tried to draw around Seamus lately, his pencil would stray from what he was trying to sketch — a bench, say, or a tree — and find itself inspired by the quirk of Seamus’ eyebrows. Dean would look down and, instead of a tree, would find that he had drawn the way Seamus’ hair fell into his eyes. 

He had the same problem with Ginny, although usually when he drew her it was more intentional. He had asked her about it, and she had been flattered, so Dean allowed himself to draw the curve of her smile or the way her hair flared like fire as much as he wanted to. 

With the exception of right now, because he was supposed to be drawing this tower. Something about its top eluded him — was it the spire that didn’t look quite right on paper? Dean squinted. 

Someone plopped down on the bench next to him — a freckled, grinning someone who rested their chin on his shoulder. 

Dean looked over, pleasantly surprised. “I thought you had Quidditch practice.” 

“It ended early.” Ginny peered over at his drawing and Dean resisted the urge to move it away. He felt Ginny raise her eyebrows against his cheek. “This is really good!”

He glanced down at her. “Yeah?” 

“Of course! I remember seeing some of the banners you made last year for parties.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Dean stuck the pencil behind his ear. “Lee Jordan would enchant them to move. It was weird, seeing stuff you’d drawn suddenly start to talk.” 

Ginny laughed. Conversation moved on as she teased him about nonverbal spells — “I’ve seen my brother try. He looks constipated!” — and he regaled her with the story of when Harry had been practicing in the dorm early one morning and accidentally flung Ron upside down into the air. 

“Hey, you don’t have to do that, you know.” She pointed to his hands. “Seamus isn’t here right now.” 

“What? Oh.” Dean hadn’t realized that he’d been signing along as he spoke. “Bad habit, I guess.” 

“It’s not a bad habit,” Ginny protested. “A bad habit is biting your nails, or, you know, drugs. Don’t laugh, I’m serious! You knowing sign language is like the opposite of a bad habit! Are you completely fluent, by the way?” 

“Uh, not completely, I don’t think. But I’ve got a dictionary, and if I don’t know the sign for the word I can just spell it or speak it out loud and see if Seamus knows.” 

“That’s so cool.” She beamed at him. “Do you wanna go inside or stay out here?” 

Dean shrugged, sending one last look at the tower. But Ginny looked at him entreatingly — she had been outside all morning, he remembered, and Dean’s butt was getting cold. “Let’s go in.” 

She smiled and grabbed his hand. 

 

Seamus walked down the staircase into the Great Hall, thinking of going outside to find Dean. He passed by two girls with their heads bent together. One looked as though she was crying. Of course, it could have been something as simple as a bad grade, but Seamus didn’t think so. More people were going missing every day. This girl had probably had a relative dragged from their bed in the middle of the night by Death Eaters or bitten by a werewolf. 

Neville waved heartily at Seamus, dragging him from his dark thoughts. _Have you seen Dean?_

The other boy shrugged as best he could around the large potted plant he was holding. It looked like a large flower… with teeth. It snapped at him. 

Seamus pointed. _That had better not end up in our dorm, Neville._

 _No, it won’t be._ Neville laughed, looking slightly sheepish. He hurried away, most likely to find a new home for his plant that hopefully was not next to Seamus’ bed. 

Turning away from Neville, Seamus saw Dean and Ginny walk in, cheeks flushed from the chill outside. He thought about going down to them, but stopped as Ginny stood on her tiptoes and kissed Dean sweetly, then grabbed his hand and led him somewhere else. 

Seamus was _not_ going to be a third wheel, thank you very much. He started to walk away but felt eyes on him and stopped. 

The source of the gaze was a boy in a green tie, lounging against a pillar nearby. Blaise Zabini caught Seamus’ gaze and didn’t look away. 

Seamus frowned. This guy was friends with Malfoy, he knew, and a sixth-year like them. But why was he staring like that? 

Blaise very deliberately looked Seamus up and down and made eye contact again. A smile played around his lips. 

 _Oh._ Seamus felt his ears go red. Zabini’s smirk turned into a blinding smile. He winked and walked away. 

The Gryffindor looked around. Dean had vanished somewhere with Ginny, and no other students seemed to have noticed his… interaction with Zabini. 

Seamus thought of Blaise’s half-lidded look again and grinned suddenly. He wasn’t going to do anything of course, that would be stupid. But. 

Well. 

It was nice to be noticed. 

—————————————————————————————————

Harry walked up to Dean after Transfiguration and blurted out, “Are you still interested in playing Chaser?” 

“Wha—?” Dean’s mind spun, still thinking about bird anatomy and how to conjure it from thin air. Harry was Quidditch Captain, of course finding a new Chaser would fall to him since Katie Bell had her accident. Dean and Seamus had both tried out at the beginning of the year and promptly forgotten about it when neither made the team. 

Harry was looking at him expectantly. Dean grinned. “Yeah, of course!” 

Seamus, at the back of the classroom, read their lips and frowned. 

“Well, then, you’re in,” said Harry. “There’s a practice tonight, seven o’clock.” 

“Right. Cheer, Harry! Blimey, I can’t wait to tell Ginny!” Dean left the room quickly. 

Harry sent a guilty look at Seamus, who shrugged in an attempt for nonchalance. When he left, he found Dean waiting for him down the hall. 

_Thought you were going to find Ginny._

_I wanted to find you._ Dean grabbed Seamus’ arm, forcing him to stop walking. _Are you mad?_

 _Why would I be mad?_ Seamus didn’t meet his eyes. 

Dean put his hand underneath the other boy’s chin, turning it so Seamus had to look at him. He felt Seamus swallow. “Tell me. Are you jealous?” 

Seamus took a step back from him. He heaved a sigh and nodded. _It’s not fair._

Dean frowned, unsure of whether he had understood correctly. “Why isn’t it fair?” 

“Because if I could hear I would fly better.” Seamus turned away from Dean, clenching his fists. There was an explosion simmering under his skin. “But I can’t! I can’t hear the Bludgers and I can’t hear other people on the team!” He whirled back to look at Dean. “What does the wind sound like? What does _your voice_ sound like? I don’t know!” 

Dean blinked. They had done this for years, Seamus asking him what something sounded like and Dean doing his best to answer, usually on days when both were bored and had nothing to do, or late at night with Dean resting carelessly on his friend’s shoulder.  “Seamus. I…”

The Irish boy seemed to deflate suddenly. He signed, _I’m not mad at you._

Dean drew a circle with his thumb on the center of his chest. _I’m sorry._

A hand was placed over his, preventing him from repeating the sign. Seamus shook his head, searching Dean’s face. 

“What—” Dean started to say, but Seamus was already walking away. Dean stood alone in the hallway and looked after him, but Seamus didn’t turn around. 

—————————————————————————————————

It was pretty easy to get into the kitchens. Seamus had thought maybe there would be a magical barrier preventing students from going in, or maybe armed trolls. That would be pretty cool, although he wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. 

Inside the Hogwarts kitchens was a bustling whirl of food-preparing, dish-washing, and small creatures moving quickly around one another. 

“Master Seamus! Throwing another party?” One came up to him and bowed. 

It was considerably more difficult to read house elves’ lips due to their slang and habitual deference that led to not making eye contact when speaking to humans. Seamus thought it was good practice. 

“Not today, Dotto. Maybe soon, though.” 

“We will have butterbeers ready when you do, sir! Why has Master come down here today?” 

Seamus shrugged. “Can I wash dishes or something?” 

He had always helped his mam at home and found the repetition of water and soap under his hands calming. 

“Dotto will be checking! Is Master Dean not with you today?” 

“He says hello and asked you to send him up some food. But no, he’s not here.” 

The house elf darted away, and Seamus watched the cheerful business of the kitchen. He thought briefly of Hermione’s SPEW campaign and wondered what it would be like to work here, in the underbellies of Hogwarts. 

It didn’t seem too bad of a job, although Seamus supposed he would miss interacting with other wizards. 

Dotto returned and politely kicked him out, stating that there were no jobs for him to do and it would be crazy for a wizard to work alongside house elves anyway. The elf offered a bag of treats for Dean and bid him to come again soon. Seamus stuck the bag of cookies in his pocket and went to find Lavender and Parvati. 

Much later in the evening, after Dean and Ginny returned from their date, Seamus gave the sweets to his friend.  

“Best desserts in the world.” He offered one to Seamus, grinning. 

Seamus took it with a _Thanks._ He watched Dean smile for a few seconds longer than was allowed and looked away. 

It was like a drug, this infatuation. Seamus felt like every moment he spent with Dean became more precious, every conversation imbibed with new meaning (“I want you, not Ginny,” He dreamed of Dean saying), and every day, Seamus wanted more — more time to watch the shape of Dean’s mouth, more occasions to crack jokes that would reward him with Dean’s eyes lighting up in laughter. 

He was certain this was not going to end well. Seamus took a bite of his cookie. 

—————————————————————————————————

There was nice rain, Dean thought, and then there was this rain. Nice rain left a fresh scent in the air and patterns on spiderwebs that just begged you to draw them. This rain was wintry, stinging, and left you cold for hours after it had soaked into your clothes and skin. 

Ginny readjusted her position against him and sighed. Even though the common room fire was trying its hardest, her hair was still not dry, and she was incredibly disgruntled. 

The room was surprisingly quiet for the amount of people in it. A low murmur of conversation permeated the room, but it carried the air of unhurried, steady companionship. Ron and Lavender were cuddling in the corner — there was a surprise — and Neville was reading not far from them, although he looked like he was trying to distance himself from the PDA as much as possible. 

Hermione and Parvati came in, drenched and unhappy about it. 

“Your cat’s a traitor,” Parvati said, pointing to where Crookshanks had curled up in a first-year’s lap. 

Hermione’s brown hair had become even wilder from the rain. She pushed a frizzy curl away from her face and scowled. “Forget him. I feel like I’ll never be dry again.” 

Harry was freshly out of the hospital wing after taking a Bludger to the head at their last match. Dean had said the face he had made right before passing out was funny, and Ginny had shouted at him. That had gone on for a few days, but they were okay now, Dean hoped. 

(He felt like they spent more and more of their time fighting these days.) 

No, they were fine. All couples fought. And anyway, Dean had apologized and then Ginny had too for yelling at him like that. She had just been worried, she explained. 

Dean felt someone poke his cheek and drew himself out of his thoughts. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Ginny stifled a yawn. 

He smiled at her fondly. “I’m an artist. Aren’t we supposed to be all deep and mysterious?” 

She laughed and Harry’s head turned toward the sound. He caught Dean’s eye and looked away guiltily. 

 _Weird,_ Dean thought as Seamus sat down next to them. 

Ginny waved at him. “Where’ve you been?” 

Seamus arched two of his fingers over an open palm and moved them forward three times. 

“Walking?” Ginny guessed. 

She got a thumbs-up and a smile in response. Seamus tapped Dean on the shoulder not occupied by Ginny and signed, _What does my voice sound like?_

 _Why?_ Dean asked, simply curious. He thought back to when Seamus had asked him what rain sounded like in the Great Hall — such a long time ago and not actually that long at all. 

Seamus shrugged. He wanted to look away but kept his eyes on Dean in order not to miss the latter’s response. “Some girls were… telling me about it today.” 

“About your voice? Seamus, there’s nothing wrong with your voice, you know that. Anyone who thinks different is an idiot.” 

Seamus shrugged again, but he looked a little cheerier. 

Dean stared into the fire, thinking. Ginny had moved away slightly and was a solid weight against one side. He was conscious of Seamus sitting next to him on the other. Rain pounded on the windows like it wanted to get in. 

When he was ready, Dean elbowed Seamus lightly. The other boy started, evidently lost in his thoughts. 

 _Your voice,_ Dean started to sign. He stopped, realizing he would have to speak in order to get any coherent thoughts out. “Your voice sounds like… when a paintbrush slides over canvas. And the way dirt crumbles between your fingers when it hasn’t rained in a few days.” 

He thought some more, focused on the other boy’s face. “It’s the feeling in your stomach when you lift off on a broomstick. That’s your voice — that’s what you sound like.” 

The firelight reflected off Seamus’ eyes, which gazed steadily into his. The dim lighting made Seamus look flushed. He signed, _Thank you._

Dean turned back to look at Ginny, who was squinting at the pair of them as though she was trying to see them from a long distance away. The look on her face was a cross between suspicious and incredulous. 

“Something wrong?” Dean asked his girlfriend. 

She quickly schooled her face back to a neutral smile. “No, nothing. I’m gonna go talk to Harry because he’s sitting all alone, alright?” 

Dean kissed her as she stood up, pleased when she hummed. “Alright. Come back soon.” 

She laughed. “I will.” 

 _Sorry._ Dean turned back to Seamus. _Couples. We’re gross, you know how it is._

Did he, though? Dean wondered briefly when Seamus was going to get a boyfriend. Frankly, it was surprising that he hadn’t dated anyone before now. Did he like someone? There was a weird feeling in Dean’s stomach as he considered Seamus having a crush on a mystery guy. Did that person like him back? 

 _Did you mean it?_ Seamus signed, halting Dean’s thoughts of what kind of boys Seamus could be interested in. _About my voice._

Surprised, Dean wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Of course.” He said it again, although this time Seamus, looking at the flames, wouldn’t see him. “Of course.” 

—————————————————————————————————

_Around them, stars dance together and whirl into the sea, shining brightly. Everything shines — the waves, the burning asteroids beneath them, and Ginny’s eyes as she lies next to him on the beach._

_“I feel like you’re drifting away from me,” Dean says. Ginny wears a white dress and looks like a goddess — the kind who appears from the sky, smites you down, and then draws your blood as warpaint on her cheekbones._

_“I’m still here.” The trees echo her words and start to bloom bright purple flowers. “How long will you be?”_

_In the distant sea there’s a ship, catching ablaze from the swinging stars. Its flag depicts a snake and a skull._

_“Don’t focus on that. It’s okay.” Ginny’s voice sounds different. Dean looks back and finds Seamus in her place, arms crossed behind his head._

_“How do I know?”_

_Seamus sits up, a familiar look of mischief in his eyes. He signs,_ Let me prove it to you. 

_He kisses Dean’s neck first, and Dean leans back against a rock with a sigh as Seamus’ mouth explores down his body, traveling lower and lower—_

Dean woke gasping. He sat bolt upright and looked around. It was still night, and his dorm mates were all asleep. (Thank God.) 

He took several deep breaths, trying to ease the heat pooled in his stomach. 

A dream. It was just a dream. _There’s no ‘just’ about it,_ he thought. And then, _Ginny is great. I’m dating Ginny. She’s not afraid to speak her mind and beautiful and a talented witch and I make her laugh._

(Dean pushed down the tiny voice that told him those were just things you could say about your friends.) 

The dream, Dean decided, was just a fluke — the rambling mind of a teenage boy who had just had a fight with his girlfriend before he went to sleep. That was all it was — just his frustration bursting into imagination. It had to be. 

 

The next morning, Dean couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, including Seamus. (Especially Seamus. If the dream was a fluke then why couldn’t he stop thinking about —) 

If being around Seamus was bad, seeing Ginny walk towards him was even worse. Dean felt guilt wash over him, then irrational anger — he had already established that the dream didn’t mean anything, why was he feeling guilty — then dread. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you with what I said. I wasn’t trying to start anything, and I’m sorry.” She stared at the ground. 

Relief and affection washed through Dean’s bones again. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that, it shouldn’t have been a big deal.” 

She stood up her toes to kiss him. Her face was freckled from Quidditch practice in the spring sun and Dean thought suddenly and irrevocably of Seamus, whose freckles were scattered all over his body like they had been flung there by Jackson Pollock’s paintbrush. 

“Are you okay? Dean?” 

He pulled back from Ginny and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” 

—————————————————————————————————

Seamus found Dean the day Katie Bell returned from the hospital. He gently elbowed the other boy and signed, _Are you off the team?_

 _You don’t waste time, do you?_ But Dean didn’t seem annoyed. He glanced sidelong at Seamus. _Yeah. K-a-t-i-e has her spot back._

 _Too bad._ Seamus’ hands flew. _I was talking to Hannah Abbott, and apparently she’s the one who does all the parties for Hufflepuff. She supplies drinks and makes sure there’s enough, like I do for us._

Dean nodded, following intently. He gave a thumbs-up. 

Seamus frowned. _What’s wrong?_

Dean pinched his thumb and forefinger together, his other fingers upright in the air. He wiggled his hand a few times. _Nothing._

 _I thought you like watching Quidditch more than playing it._ Seamus knocked on Dean’s head lightly. 

“I do. It’s just that now Ginny’s gonna be with Harry more than me, and I sorta feel like he…” 

Seamus’ eyebrows rose into his hair. 

Dean sighed. _Never mind._

_Come back to the dorm with me. No one’s there, we’ll have the place to ourselves._

Dean’s stomach jumped into his mouth. “Wha—”

 _You can draw. I can read or study or do something else. We won’t have to talk to anyone for a while._ Seamus glanced at Katie Bell, surrounded by people. 

With one more look at the common room, finally Dean nodded. Seamus grinned, and grabbed his sleeve. Dean’s arm was warm where the shorter boy touched it. The peculiar warmth spread up through his shoulder, chest, and neck. 

Dean wondered if he was coming down with something. 

 

So they went. Dean drew fences with barbed wire and soldiers marching through burning cities until Seamus made him stop. Then he drew hands reaching out for each other, and stars falling into seas. Seamus read, or studied, or practiced spellwork and tried not to singe his curtains. 

And if sometimes their eyes met and both looked away, and if sometimes Seamus stared at Dean as though trying to memorize his face, and if sometimes Dean did the same thing when Seamus wasn’t looking… well. Neither of them would admit it. 

—————————————————————————————————

“Hey.” 

“Why did you break up with me?” 

A pause. A sigh. “Dean…”

“Just tell me why. I know we had that stupid fight about me helping you through the portrait-hole, but we’ve had worse fights than that.” 

Ginny pursed her lips in a way that reminded her too much of her mother. She stopped immediately and settled for staring at the table instead. “Yes, but Dean, it’s no fun just to be fighting all the time.” 

“Oh, so I’m no fun?” There was a hurt silence, then Dean sighed. “Sorry.” 

“Glad to see you’re not bitter,” Ginny muttered. 

The library was quiet around them. A few students moved through the stacks or bent over essays. 

Dean said, “I really am sorry.”

“I know. Me too.” She fiddled with a strand of hair. “And it _was_ fun, at the beginning. We had some good times.” 

He smiled sadly. “Yeah, we did.” 

After an awkward silence, she stood to go. 

“Wait,” Dean said. “Just tell me one thing. Is it… Harry?” 

Ginny paused, mild surprise on her face. 

“I won’t be mad,” he promised. 

“No, it’s not Harry. Not really.” She sighed. “If you really need to know, Dean, it’s because… every time we kissed, I feel like we were both thinking of kissing someone else.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Now Ginny looked truly amused. “You don’t…? Well, you’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.” She rested her hand against his cheek briefly. He leaned into it. “Thanks for… well, everything. I’ll see you around.” 

And then she was gone. 

 

Dean pondered over Ginny’s words occasionally, once the sting had faded. Things were awkward when initial news of their breakup got into the school’s gossip circles, but they managed. 

(After Ron found out, he went up to Dean, clapped him on the back, and said, “Well, sorry, mate,” while not looking very sorry at all. Seamus thought that interaction was the funniest yet. Dean’s half-hearted glares only fueled his laughter.) 

The House Cup drew closer as spring wore on. Seamus threw the biggest party of his life when Gryffindor won. Along with the usual supply of butterbeer, he set out some sparkling cider, and a fifth-year with bright pastel eyeshadow donated two bottles of champagne. 

Seamus didn’t ask where she got them and, frankly, didn’t care to know. 

He looked happy and glorious, Dean thought, watching Seamus strike up a conversation with Hermione, who had been sending dark looks at the crowd of Ron’s admirers. 

“So…” Neville said. “Are you going to stare at him this whole time?” 

Dean turned. “Hm? Sorry Nev, what’d you say?” 

The other boy grinned. “Oh, nothing. Are you guys in a fight or something?” 

“Who?” 

“You and Seamus. Normally you’d be attached at the hip right now.” 

Dean’s neck felt strangely hot. “Uh, no we’re not in a fight. I just… I don’t know. Don’t want to cramp his style.” 

The look Neville gave him was full of judgement, which Dean thought was highly unfair. 

“What, man? I’m hanging out with you!” 

“No, you’re not.” Neville said. “You’re pining. Which is really surprising, because usually it’s the other way around. 

“Dude, you’re not making sense.” 

Neville said, “I am sick of all the _feelings_ in our dorm room! You walk in and fall right into it! Ron pines for Hermione, Harry pines for Ginny, Seamus pines for you, you pine right back for him — and still remain completely oblivious, somehow! There’s so much pining we might as well be a coniferous forest!” 

“You know I don’t get your Herbology jokes,” Dean said. Then, “Wait, did you say… about Seamus? For…?” 

His response was a long-suffering sigh. 

Dean’s brain stopped working. “I don’t … for Seamus? I’m not pining… I mean, there was that dream, but that’s normal! And it was a one-time thing!” 

“I am certain that I don’t want to hear anymore about this dream of yours,” Neville said. “Dean, listen to me. Please figure it out between the two of you. I can’t take it anymore.” 

“I… figure what out? Neville, what do you mean? Hey — where are you going?” 

The other boy waved over his shoulder. “Just think about him! You’ll know what I mean!” 

Think about him? Neville was nuts. Dean thought about Seamus all the time. They were best mates, after all. But what he had said about _pining…_ Seamus, wanting Dean? And Dean, silently crushing on Seamus? That was ridiculous — Dean would know if he was in love with his best friend. He should go after Neville and ask him if he was feeling alright, since he was clearly talking nonsense. 

And yet something rooted him to the spot. 

Seamus. With his laughing eyes, hands signing furiously, always telling one story or another. Dean thought back to his dream of those hands trailing over his skin, and his heart beat painfully in his chest. He thought of how Seamus would tap Dean’s shoulder when he wanted to sign something and needed Dean’s attention, of how his hair had been getting longer and fell into his eyes. 

 _He should really get a haircut,_ Dean thought distractedly, remembering the way Seamus’ pulse beat rapidly under his fingertips. He thought of his voice, his blunt way with words, and imagined his face — eyebrows quirked in mischief, a hint of steel under his features saying _I will not break so easy,_ freckles across the bridge of his nose. The look in his eyes when Dean caught him staring — 

 _Oh my God._ Dean’s grip on his glass tightened. 

He thought about them kissing. Last year. Desperate and clinging to each other, hearts pounding with fear of getting caught, Dean’s hands in Seamus’ hair. 

The glass shattered in Dean’s hand, but he barely noticed. He turned to look at Seamus and his stomach leapt up like it was on an elevator. His heart hurt. _I like him. I like him._

Seamus turned to look at him, concern in his eyes. Dean realized that the room had gone quiet, staring at Ginny and Harry, who were locked in a kiss and lost to the rest of the world. Surprisingly, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Someone wolf-whistled and the spell was broken. The embracing couple broke apart and the room dissolved into laughter and noise once again. Dean jerked his head toward the door. Seamus nodded and followed. 

 _Are you okay?_ They had walked down a few corridors in silence and now Seamus sat against the wall, signing to Dean. 

_Needed some air._

Seamus shook his head. _No, your hand._

Dean looked down in surprise. He hadn’t even realized the glass had cut him when it broke. 

Seamus shook his head fondly and took out his wand. Dean gave him his hand, and Seamus muttered a spell. The gash closed. 

Dean sank down against the cool stone, grounding himself. When Seamus looked back at Dean, he thought that the taller boy looked upset. _Is it Ginny?_

_No. I’m thinking._

_What are you thinking?_ The Irish boy grinned.

Dean turned to look at him. “I think I want to kiss you.” 

Seamus blinked. He blinked again. Dean looked incredibly earnest, brown eyes searching his. They were very close together. Seamus’ head was swimming. “If I weren’t deaf, I would have said I heard you wrong. What?” 

Dean drew back slightly and signed. _I want to kiss you._

_Why?_

_I like you. I have for a long time, but I was too stupid to realize it._

Seamus signed, _You’re not stupid,_ automatically and then Dean opened his mouth to say something else and then they were kissing. 

“Wow,” Dean said when they finally broke apart, moments or years later. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?” 

Seamus took him in: cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and face bright. A lazy feeling of happiness washed over the shorter boy. He signed, _You’re telling me._

Dean laughed and allowed Seamus to pull him down again. 

 

Two months later, they sat on Seamus’ bed as close to each other as possible. 

“Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” Dean’s face was downcast. 

Last night, Seamus had felt the floors rumble beneath them as Death Eaters broke into their school, flinging curses left and right. Last night, they had stared at the Dark Mark illuminating the night sky, sending a promise to all who looked on it: _We’re coming for you next._

Last night, they had watched — again — in silence as Harry sobbed over a broken body lying on the ground. 

 _He sounds like his insides are being ripped out,_ Dean had signed to Seamus, who took his hand. 

Last night, Dumbledore had fallen. 

Seamus leaned forward to brush their lips together. “Not us. Never us.” 

They both knew it wasn’t true.

 


	7. Year 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with the slow updates and always so so kind. Every comment adds five years to my life :P  
> Follow me on tumblr under the username bookwyrrm! Sending much love, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! (i'm afraid it got kinda long and rambling, like this note.)

The sun was shining, the sky was clear blue, and Dean was leaving. 

 _It’s too dangerous for me to stay._ Dean’s backpack weighed heavily on his shoulders like he had filled it with bricks. 

 _I know._ Seamus heaved a sigh. _I wish…_

He let his hands hang uselessly in the air and drop. Dean grabbed them tightly. 

“Promise you’ll look after my family? Don’t let the Death Eaters get to them. I put some spells up, and they should hold, but if for some reason they don’t, if I…” Neither of them wanted to think it. “Just watch over them, will you?” 

Seamus nodded. “Promise you’ll come back.”  

There was a lump in Dean’s throat that seemed intent on stopping any words trying to get past. He pulled Seamus into a tight hug and felt the other boy breathe shakily against him. 

Dean heard the doorbell ring and tensed. _It wasn’t them, it couldn’t be, they couldn’t care about him yet, they wouldn’t know where to look for him, why was he so jumpy, would this be his life from now on?_

Seamus felt his hair stir as Dean whispered something against the top of his head and stepped back. He searched for something to say but couldn’t come up with anything adequate. _(Don’t go, don’t get caught, how will I know if you’re okay,  let us protect you, run and stay alive stay alive.)_

They kissed desperately, then Dean turned, looked back once, and was gone. 

Seamus stood alone in the garden. A bee bumped contentedly into his head and he swatted it away. They had practiced Disapparition together a month ago, perfecting the skills half-remembered from Hogwarts instructions. It was a game, appearing and disappearing as seamlessly as possible in various spots around the house, until Dean had landed in Seamus’ lap (by accident, he had claimed) and practice was forgotten. 

Seamus felt a dull pain deep in his gut. A creeping instinct told him that it was not from indigestion but rather current events. 

It was going to be an awful year. 

—————————————————————————————————

Dean had no idea how to be on the run. He also had no idea how far the Death Eaters’ reach extended or how well they understood the Muggle world. His safest bet would probably be hiding in unknown areas of the English countryside, but he couldn’t help wonder if it would be smarter to disappear somewhere in the winding streets of London. 

His mother understood, as well as she could. After all, Dean’s own father had left her after Dean was born, hoping to protect them both from Voldemort’s supporters the first time, although he hadn’t told his wife the truth about his magic.

His father had never come back. He had been killed before Dean said his first word. 

Dean tried not to think about that as he Disapparated to a dark forest and set up camp. He had time to kill before night and went through his things again, making sure that he had packed enough Muggle money to keep him fed and his sketchbook to keep him sane. 

School would start in a few days. He wondered how many others like him were in hiding. He wondered how many had refused to run. He wondered what they would do to the Mudbloods who had come to school. 

He wondered how long he could stay hidden and what they would do to him if he was caught. 

He decided to practice shadowing and drew the tall trees around him, silent and unmoving. The dark between them seemed to be watching him. 

—————————————————————————————————

When they got to Hogwarts, the Carrows called for the Mudbloods to stay after the feast. Ginny tried to eavesdrop but was forcibly escorted away. 

“They’re henchmen,” she complained to Seamus and Neville, clustered in the common room. “They aren’t even smart enough to run a school.” 

“Well, he needs all the smart ones with him, I assume.” Neville cast a glance around the common room. 

Seamus saw heads suddenly straighten around the room to look at the portrait-hole. It swung open and a group of Muggleborns clambered in. Most were returning students, who left the common room immediately in search of their friends. The first-years — a very small number — huddled together. A few were crying. 

“Uh, hey,” Neville said. 

They shrank back from him. 

Seamus and Ginny stood as well. Seamus caught individual eyes and tried to smile reassuringly. Ginny, next to him, did not. She stood stoically, glaring at the other returning students who looked like they might interrupt. 

“My name’s Neville. I’m in my seventh year. You don’t have to be afraid of us, okay?” 

A boy spoke, tall and gangly for his age. “Why’re yeh doin’ that with yer hands?” 

“I’m signing because Seamus is deaf.” Neville pointed, and Seamus waved. “This way is easier for him to understand what’s going on.” 

“My uncle signs.” The speaker was a small girl with golden skin near the middle of the crowd. “He’s got Down Syndrome.” 

Seamus gave her two thumbs-up and saw her giggle. He elbowed Neville, making his hands into fists and moving them deliberately in the air. _Chairs._

“Let’s sit down,” Neville suggested, motioning for the first years to do so. Ginny stood behind Neville and Seamus, keeping watchful eyes toward the door. 

“Are yeh like us? Mudbloods?” The tall boy wanted to know. 

“Neville and I are pureblood, although the Carrows don’t like us much.” Ginny said wryly. “Our families are what’s called ‘blood traitors’ because we don’t buy into their bullshi— uh, their nonsense. Seamus is a half-blood.” 

Neville added, “But a lot of our friends are Muggleborn, like you. Some of them are on the run, and some are here.” 

“They told us about kids on the run. They said when they get captured their wands will be broken and they’ll be sent to Asbakan… no, Azkaban. Or worse.” The girl shrunk into her armchair. 

Seamus felt Ginny grip his shoulder. He glanced back and saw his own worry reflected in her eyes. 

“What else did they say?” Neville leaned forward. 

Silence. Then a new voice piped up. “They said we’re abominations. Gave us a whole history about how magic has always been only for wizards but sometimes it pops up in Muggles. We’re a fluke.” 

“Yeah, or that we stole it,” someone else said. “I don’t even know how to control my magic stuff, let alone steal someone else’s. And one dose is enough for me, thank you.” 

A reluctant wave of laughter traveled through the group. 

“Listen to me,” Ginny said. “You aren’t freaks, you aren’t wrong, no matter what they say. They’re the ones who are wrong. You have to stick together, and we’ll help you out when you can. But don’t ever start believing what the Carrows tell you. You’re in Gryffindor now. We don’t give in.” 

Neville nodded. “Have you ever heard of Harry Potter?” 

 

They rebelled when they could, sneaking out at night to write graffiti on the walls or Vanish the torture equipment. Little things. 

Luna came up with the idea, and so a few Ravenclaws joined her in the library each week, retreating deep into the stacks of books, first years following. They didn’t contact any eleven-year-olds from the Slytherin house, due to security risks. Luna felt bad about it. Ginny did not. 

Huddled between the shelves, Terry Boot or Michael Corner would teach an alternative curriculum. The first-years practiced Shield Charms and the healing spell _Episkey_ under their watchful eye — and, of course, _Expelliarmus._

“Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who with this spell when he was fourteen,” Terry would say. “He’s out there right now trying to do the same.” 

“How do yeh know tha’?” Owen would say, the tallest of the first-years and the most cynical. “He could be dead.” 

“If he was dead,” Luna said mildly, “do you think the Carrows would keep it a secret?” She smiled. “He’s still alive.” 

Sometimes, Luna brought her father’s magazine and showed it to the kids. The Quibbler proudly sported anti-Voldemort propaganda. They _oohed_ at the picture of Harry’s face on the front page. 

Seamus personally thought that Harry would have hated it and had to bite back a smile. 

Ginny’s signal was knocking the book _Love Bites or Death Bites: A Guide to Living Near Vampires_ off the shelf. When this happened, the children hid their wands and pretended to be taking notes. 

“And that, kids,” Michael would announce as someone rounded the corner and peered at them, “is the difference between ghosts and Inferi. All hail the Dark Lord.” 

—————————————————————————————————

Although it was instant condemnation if he got caught, Dean kept Muggle money with him. He had to get food somehow. 

He never dared to stay the night in a city. It might have been an irrational fear that the Death Eaters would find him in a place full of people, but it was a fear nonetheless. 

It didn’t help that he could always feel a policeman’s eyes following him. Dean’s chin was covered in uneven stubble and he didn’t even want to think about how much dirt was clinging to him. (The sinks in public bathrooms could only do so much.) Add in the fact that Dean was tall, black, and carrying a large backpack, and he wasn’t surprised at the cops’ attention. 

It still made him anxious, though, however much he had become used to it. He would buy food, maybe a map of campgrounds or forests near the area, and Disapparate as soon as he could. 

It was November when Dean ran into someone else. He had started to think he was pretty good at this “on-the-run” thing and had just Disapparated onto a muddy piece of land next to a lake. Or possibly a swamp. It was slightly hard to tell, but the trees rising haphazardly out of the water and the ground sucking at his shoes like it wanted to eat them gave the place a certain swamp-like feel. 

Dean moved to higher ground, trying not to think about water snakes. He wondered instead if there were nixies living in that lake-swamp, or if the overwhelming presence of mud had driven them out. 

There was a rustling in the leaves near him. 

 _It’s just a deer,_ Dean assured himself. _Don’t be so jumpy._

He took his wand out anyway and backed away slowly. A branch snapped under his foot. The rustling abruptly stopped. 

The leaves suddenly parted as a man pushed through, wand held at the ready.  He was stout, with fair hair and an open face, and he froze when he saw Dean. 

They stared at each other in silence, wands pointing and ready to fire a curse. Dean frantically searched his mind for a plan of escape. 

The man spoke first, and Dean flinched. “Alright, son,” he said. “Let’s take it easy.” 

Dean did not move. The man slowly lowered his wand, a sign of trust, of submission. Of course, he could easily bring the wand up again, or shoot a hex at Dean’s legs, so the teenager didn’t return the favor. 

“How old are you? Nineteen?” 

Dean’s height always led people to believe he was older than he actually was. He said, “Yeah.” 

“Ah, no you’re not.” The older man tucked his wand in his back pocket casually. “My name’s Ted Tonks. I’m a Muggleborn.” 

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Dean wanted so badly to trust this man, this man with the honest eyes and filthy blood like him. 

“Well, I suppose you don’t. Just gonna have to trust me. Let’s see… my wife’s name is Andromeda, used to be a Black. I’ve got a daughter, she just married a werewolf, actually.” He cast Dean a shrewd glance. “Nice fellow, a little odd. Can’t say I totally approve but… you know. He used to teach at Hogwarts, actually. Remus Lupin, any chance you know him?” 

Dean lowered his wand and beamed. “Yeah, he was my teacher. Best one I ever had.” 

It felt like a weight had been lifted off Dean’s shoulders that he didn’t even know he had been carrying. “I’m Dean.” 

Ted reached out to shake his hand firmly. “Pleased to meet you. Awfully muddy around here, don’t you think?” 

Dean laughed. 

Without directly acknowledging it, they began to set up camp for the night, trying to find a dry place to pitch the tents. They chose not to make a fire but opted for a cold dinner of shared provisions instead. 

“I’m seventeen,” Dean said. It felt like a thank you. 

“Seventeen,” Ted repeated. “I was close. So this would be your final year at Hogwarts?” 

A nod from Dean, busy chewing. 

Ted mused, “So young. War is hell.” 

Dean coughed. “So Professor Lupin is your son-in-law?” 

“Indeed he is. They got married… oh, sometime during the summer. Hey, I might be a grandfather by the time the war is over.” He looked delighted at the thought. 

“That’s awesome.”

“What about you, son? Got a girlfriend at Hogwarts?” 

“Oh. Er…not exactly.” The kid let out a half-laugh, like an inside joke. “But I’ve got someone.” 

Ted watched Dean look away, good mood forgotten. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’re fine.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, exhaling heavily. “Yeah, I hope so.” 

———————————————————————————————

 _How are you doing?_ Neville signed wearily during a break. 

It took Seamus a few tries to make his limbs move. He held up a thumb. _Oh, yeah, I’m fine._

In front of them, the first-years figured out who was going next. A new pair stepped in front of Neville and Seamus, who were currently groaning on the floor. 

Adilah, the one who knew sign language, met Seamus’ eyes as she was pushed forward. Her wand trembled in her hand. She drew a circle over her chest, eyes distraught. _I’m sorry._

Seamus shook his head at her. He tried to smile but his treacherous lip cracked instead and blood trickled down his chin. 

Adilah’s eyes filled with tears. Alecto, trying to be nurturing, patted the little girl on top of her head. 

Adilah’s partner was the tall, stick-thin boy Owen. He looked away as he cast the curse at Neville. A few first-years, hiding in the back, covered their ears. 

Seamus supposed that the Carrows’ punishments were certainly effective. Getting caught while pulling down the notices posted throughout the school of Death Eater propaganda had warranted this. The Carrows called it a learning experience. Flitwick called it “not the best idea, don’t you think?” Ginny called it “bloody torture, Nev, it’s not right. How dare they?”

Alecto Carrow gave Adilah another pat on the head, this one more forceful. The girl pointed her wand at Seamus, blinked back her tears, and whispered _“Crucio.”_

—————————————————————————————————

It was unnerving how quickly Dean had come to depend on Ted. He added companionship to long, lonely nights, often telling stories in that soothing voice of his. They figured out a schedule for taking night-watches, where one person would sleep and the other sit awake and stare into the night. About halfway through, they would switch, although Dean had caught Ted taking a few extra minutes of guard duty to let Dean sleep. 

It wasn’t as if Dean had been lacking in paternal affection. Raj, his stepfather, had married Dean’s mother when Dean was still very young, so he had grown up having Raj around, humming as he flipped eggs for breakfast. 

But Ted taught him a spell for shaving without a mirror. He told him old Wizarding fairy tales and sang rowdy drinking songs with him over the fire. 

Dean had first watch one night and was drawing, wand on the ground beside him where it could be easily snatched up. He had been especially nostalgic for Hogwarts that day, longing for a bed, a hot meal, and his friends. 

He drew Seamus, hair falling in his face, mouth half-quirked up at some joke. He realized that he couldn’t remember the pattern of freckles on Seamus’ cheek and felt a thrill of panic. He used to know. Was it a triangle — no, some sort of constellation? How had Dean forgotten? 

“How’s it looking out here?” Ted said, coming out of his tent. 

Dean shrugged. “All quiet. Couldn’t sleep?” 

Ted shook his head, eyes falling on Dean’s sketch. “Is that your ‘someone’?” 

Dean flinched. “Uh, what?” 

“You said you didn’t have a girlfriend at Hogwarts, but you had someone. Looking at the way you drew him, I was making an educated guess.” 

The boy had gone very still. He stared down at the notepad, shoulders tense. 

“Dean?”

There was no answer. 

Ted laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “My daughter just married a werewolf, and we’re on the run from a fascist regime.” Very quietly he said, “I’ve got no room to judge.” 

Ted felt the tension melt away. Dean cleared his throat and murmured, “Thank you.” 

“Wake me up when my watch starts. I’m gonna try to get some sleep.” He headed back into his tent. “Good night, son.” 

“Good night.” Dean watched Ted retreat, heard the tent door zip closed. For some reason, he felt like crying. 

 

A few hours before they Disapparated, Dean excused himself into the forest, searching for an owl. This was probably an awful decision, but Dean was a Gryffindor. Bad decisions were what his house was known for. 

Since he and Ted were leaving right after he sent the letter, there was no way for the Ministry to track them. Dean coaxed an owl down from a tree, cooing to it. The bird eyed him warily. 

He wished he could send a letter to his family, but it was too risky. It was risky to send one to Seamus, too, but at Hogwarts owls were more common. The message had at least a chance of getting delivered. 

Dean felt a little foolish as he tied his note to the owl’s leg, hoping it was smart enough to understand what he wanted. For all he knew, it would just use the letter to pad its nest. 

“Seamus Finnigan, Hogwarts School,” he whispered to the bird. And then, “uh, please?” 

The owl looked at him with disdain and then took to the sky. 

—————————————————————————————————

Amycus Carrow was in a good mood. The little brats had not done anything this morning besides existing, which, although not the ideal situation, was not too bad either. The Dark Lord was reigning and the birds were chirping.

It was because Amycus was in such a good mood that he chose to display the letter instead of burning it. It had been wrested from an unmarked owl, skinny enough that it was probably wild. 

He held it up in the Great Hall. “This came today for one of you. There was no name on the letter.” 

To Seamus, Neville signed furiously, trying to keep up. Seamus watched the scrap of paper start to be passed around the tables. Students inspected it, hope and dread in their expressions, before deciding it wasn’t meant for them and passing it on to their neighbor. 

“Whoever sent it is on the run. No doubt they’re getting cocky. I will assure you all, though, that we will catch them soon. The Dark Lord’s power grows every day and _no one_ can run from that.” His face shone feverish. 

The note was dirty and crumpled, coarse to Seamus’ touch. There was only one word on it. He glanced down and felt all the breath leave his body in a sudden _whoosh._

Dean’s handwriting called out to him from the page. He would know it anywhere. 

_ALIVE_

Seamus lost sudden control of his magic and the basket of fruit in front of him burst into flames. The scent was oddly pleasant in the tension of the Hall. 

Every head turned to stare at him. 

“Hah,” Amycus said. He stalked over. “The deaf boy. Half-blood, right?” 

Crabbe shuffled up to join them, making sure to angle himself so Seamus could read his lips. “Begging your pardon, Professor Carrow.” 

“Yes?” 

“I can tell you who that note’s from.” 

Seamus started forward, fists ready, but Alecto seized his arms from behind. 

“Well go ahead, boy.” 

Seamus felt Alecto giggle against his back. 

“His filthy Mudblood boyfriend.” 

Seamus saw Crabbe stumble back as Ginny’s hex hit him in the chest. The Carrows ignored her — Crabbe would be fine — and focused on Seamus. 

“Is that true?” Amycus said. 

He could feel the students watching. Seamus grinned and spat onto the floor. 

When the beating came, he hardly felt the blows. Dean’s note ran through his blood, pumping in his pulse like a drug. _Alive. Alive. Alive._

 

McGonagall let the students use the fireplace in her office to Floo home for winter break, as usual. She marked their names off on a list as one by one they stepped into the fireplace. The Carrows, thankfully, were not there. 

The Muggle-born first-years waited in a clump. Their wands had been taken from them — Seamus was surprised they had even been given wands in the first place. 

“Remember your teachings,” Luna said. “Wandless magic is harder to control, but if you really focus you can usually accomplish what you mean to.” 

Michael Corner said, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to it. If you’re doing protection charms, try to envision a bubble.” 

A few nodded. Some cast nervous looks at McGonagall, who pretended to be busy writing something down on the clipboard. Their distrust of teachers was valid, but McGonagall would never rat them out. 

Ginny gave each of them a fierce hug, saying goodbye, remembering each name. 

Neville said, “When this blows over, we’ll come find you again. Don’t give up faith.” 

“We want to stay here,” A small Hufflepuff piped from the crowd. “We want to help you fight.” 

Parvati had come to some of their meetings. She and Ginny were especially good at teaching dueling spells to attack and defend. Now, she clutched Padma’s hand tightly and said, “Fighting comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes the best thing you can do to help is to go home and keep yourself safe, and not let them get to you.” 

Lavender added, “Besides, you wouldn’t be any good to us without wands.” 

Seamus shot her a look, and she shrugged. 

What Seamus had to offer were tiny slips of paper with a telephone number written on them — his mother’s house phone. He finger-spelled, _For emergencies._

They had taught the first-years some sign language. It had become a way of communicating very quickly without the Carrows understanding or noticing. Seamus thought it fitting that something viewed as an abomination, a freak of nature, became a method for resistance. 

The first-years left, one by one. Their time at Hogwarts was over, having been declared phonies. Seamus was infinitely glad that they were only being sent home instead of to Azkaban. 

Adilah gave him a hug. Her hands hovered in the air for a moment as though she wanted to sign something, but eventually she just backed away. 

Michael and Lavender followed the first-years. The Patil twins left as well — Padma, then Parvati, who hugged them all fiercely before stepping into the fireplace. 

Seamus ducked his head as he moved forward into the grate. He took the Floo powder offered by his teacher, smiling wryly. He announced his destination and then several things happened all at once. 

The door flew open for the Carrows and a group of others. The others seized Luna by the arms, dragging her away. Seamus saw her mouth open in a desperate scream. 

The Carrows blocked the doorway, preventing Ginny from following. She ran at them, biting and punching. 

The Floo powder did its work and green flames erupted around Seamus. He felt himself spinning. 

 _No,_ he wanted to yell. _Bring me back, what happened, where are they taking her? Luna!_

He landed heavily in his own fireplace. He had never seen Luna look like that, never seen her so scared and pleading. Seamus was almost glad he hadn’t heard her scream. 

His mother ran into the room, her hands flying to her heart when she saw him. Seamus could only imagine how he looked, covered in soot and bruises. 

“Mam,” he said. 

She held out her arms and Seamus finally — _finally —_ let himself break. 

—————————————————————————————————

They landed with a loud _crack_ somewhere in Wales. Dean could hear a river gurgling somewhere through the mess of frozen plants. 

He saw figures moving between the trees and grabbed Ted’s arm. They exchanged a glance and then crept forward, wands out. 

The figures were hard to make out, but one was significantly taller than the other two. Were they a family, a parent and two children? Dean thought suddenly of Grindylows, who liked to lure travelers into water and eat them. Lupin had taught their class about them in third-year. His blood pounded. 

The figures caught sight of Ted and Dean and froze. The taller one took out a wand and pointed it warily in their direction. 

Slowly, the two groups approached each other. As they drew closer, Dean realized that the two shorter ones were goblins, flanking a man with light brown hair. He bore the harried air of someone on the run, but the lines on his forehead were weary. 

Ted’s face lightened in recognition. “Dirk.” 

“Ted?” 

All three wizards put their wands away. The goblins looked at each other and shrugged. 

Without speaking, they fell into step together towards the river. 

Dirk was the first one to speak. “There ought to be a few salmon in here, or d’you reckon it’s too early in the season? _Accio Salmon_!” 

A fish flew out of the river and hit Dirk in the face. One of the goblins let out a grunt of laughter. 

They made a fire and pleasant conversation. Dean was half-listening to the conversation, lulled by warm food in his stomach, when the word _Gryffindor_ made him sit up straight. 

“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted?” Dirk was saying. “About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?” 

Ted glanced at Dean. “Never heard a word. Not in the _Prophet_ , was it?” 

“Hardly. Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill’s younger sister.” 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. 

“She and a couple of friends got into Snape’s office and smashed open the glass case where he was keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase.” 

 _But who was with her?_ Dean wondered. _Neville_ _Parvati Luna Lavender Seamus Seamus Seamus_

“What happened to Ginny and the others?” He asked after a minute.  “The ones who tried to steal it?” 

One of the goblins said casually, “Oh, they were punished, and cruelly.” 

“They’re okay, though?” Ted asked quickly. “I mean, the Weasleys don’t need anymore of their kids injured, do they?” 

“They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware,” said the goblin, and Dean could breathe again. 

 

The others made camp in the trees, leaving Dean, as the youngest, with the job of extinguishing the fire. He tried to cover their tracks like Ted had taught him and stepped back, reviewing his work. 

 _Missing_ hit him violently. He missed his sisters — Alyssa, sixteen and sweet despite it, fond of bubblegum lip gloss and curling her hair. Candice, in the middle of her leather-and-disturbing-music phase. Nadia, the baby, the youngest at twelve years old and sick of it, proud owner of two fish. 

Dean wanted his mother, for her to rub soothing circles on his forehead like she had when he was little and couldn’t sleep. He wanted to watch football with Raj. 

He wanted to go home. 

Instead, he took one last look at the riverbed and trekked back up into the trees. 

—————————————————————————————————

Neville went underground first. It had simply become too dangerous for him, as the unofficial leader of the revolution. The last torture session had taken him a week in bed to recover from. 

Michael Corner was caught releasing a first-year who had been chained to the wall. The first-year got away, Michael got _Crucio_ ’d, and the Room of Requirement added a second bed with blue blankets next to Neville’s. 

“This hiding-under-the-Carrows’-noses thing isn’t going to work if they start being able to smell us,” Lavender commented tritely when she and Parvati joined the slumber party. “Honestly, Neville, why don’t you have a washroom in this place?” 

Showers were soon added to the Room of Requirement. 

“Even though we’re in hiding, it doesn’t mean we stop fighting,” Neville said one day to the gathered masses of sixth- and seventh-years. “We keep going to classes, we keep standing up. This is just for practical reasons. Got it?”

Ginny was a main leader, along with Luna and Neville. She rallied students, cast hexes which were scarily effective, comforted kids struck with hopelessness. The last remaining dregs of Seamus’ jealousy were replaced with impressed adoration. 

 _You’re like a machine,_ he signed to her. _How do you do it?_

Ginny rarely stopped, not even at night. Now, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. “I know that he’s out there.” She closed her eyes, the skin around them bruised from a few nasty punches. “They all are — Ron, Hermione, the Order.” 

Seamus had always thought of fire as an uncertain, wavering beast, but the one that shone through Ginny’s eyes was steady and warm. She signed, _We will win._

Sign language grammar convoluted her statement to be less heroic than it normally would have been, but Seamus got her point. It touched him that she could have spoken but chose to sign it. 

He smiled at her and she grinned back. 

Ginny would go home for Easter and engage in the longest fight that she’d ever had with her mother. In the end, Molly won as Ginny (who had run into trouble at school just before she left and stubbornly hid it for a few days at home) lost consciousness and revealed a shocking number of wounds. 

After break, she would fire-message Neville frequently in the Room of Requirement, offering suggestions and military advice, but she would not return to Hogwarts. 

—————————————————————————————

Mrs. Finnigan stared out her window into the darkness. 

It had been about two months since she sent Seamus whirling back to Hogwarts through the Floo system, back to where they beat him for standing up, back to where they punished her baby for becoming the man she had raised him to be. 

God, he had gotten so _old,_ so sure of himself, and so tall. Of course, he was most likely the shortest in his grade, but he seemed tall to his mother. She remembered the Quidditch Cup and wondered what he would look like now standing next to Dean.

She stifled a sound. It might have been a laugh, and it might have been a sob. 

Mrs. Finnigan was used to getting what she wanted. She did not back down and could out-yell anyone who stood in her way. She certainly did not allow others to see her like this — hair bedraggled from her shower, standing in her bathrobe in the kitchen, wondering what she had come in here for. 

Her thoughts moved to Dean. She hoped that he was safe. Imagining Seamus’ reaction if he found out Dean was hurt or — no, she didn’t want to think it — made her heart twinge. 

She had marched into Hogwarts at the end of last year, determined to pull Seamus from school and take him home. When she entered the Great Hall, she saw her son lounging at breakfast, Dean’s arm flung casually around his shoulder. 

When they saw her, Dean had dropped his arm. The boys had scooted apart a few inches, and her eyes had narrowed in confusion. Seamus gulped. 

His mother beckoned him out of the large room. He exchanged a glance with Dean and followed. 

 _You’re coming home,_ she signed. 

Seamus took a deep breath and shook his head. 

_It’s not safe here, especially for you. Dumbledore is dead._

He signed, _I’m aware._

“Don’t give me that sass, Seamus Finnigan.” Mrs. Finnigan felt her temper rising. “You’re leaving. Get your things and let’s go.” 

“I’m not going. I want to stay for the funeral.”

“Seamus—” She paused and took a deep breath. Then signed, _What if the castle gets attacked again? What if someone sneaks up on you? You’re deaf, Seamus. Can’t you understand that?_

He took a step back. “I know, Mam. But I can still fight.” He switched to signing. _Besides, Dean is with me. Even if I can’t hear, he can._

 _Dean._ She repeated, spelling out his name. “That’s what this is all about.”

Now Seamus did look worried. “Mam—”

“I saw you at breakfast.” She might have been speaking more to herself now than her son. “And I see the way you look at him — Christ Almighty, I’ve seen it for years.” 

Her reaction made Seamus’ own temper (he thought it must be hereditary) flare. _This is exactly why I didn’t tell you._

“Why you didn’t tell me? Do you think I’m that blind, Seamus? I should’ve known the minute you started telling me about that boy.” 

 _Don’t bring him into this. This is between you and me. What about your friends, like with Maeve and Eileen, were you just faking being okay with it the whole time? No, stop_ — for his mother had started to sign again — _I don’t care what you think about me. I know you think I can’t protect myself, or that I’m weak, or wrong, but I’m not leaving._

Mrs. Finnigan yelled, “Your lifestyle doesn’t matter when you’re dead, Seamus!” 

They stared at each other. Even if Seamus hadn’t been able to tell by the trouble he had reading her lips that she was angry, he would have known it by the redness of her face. 

 _You don’t care?_ Seamus signed. His hands were hesitant. 

 _I just want you alive._ Mrs. Finnigan wanted to hug her son, but she refrained. _Come home with me._

Seamus shook his head stubbornly, and the argument began all over again, resulting in a shouting match that drove students out of the Great Hall and, after many hours, the two of them agreeing that Seamus would stay. 

It seemed like so long ago, she thought, standing on the cold kitchen tile. She wondered about Dean’s mother. She had never met the woman, but the boys had asked her to keep an eye on Dean’s family. 

She had not been forced to bring them any bad news so far, but there was no good news either besides the word from three months ago that he was still alive. 

 _There’s nothing you can do,_ Mrs. Finnigan told herself, but it didn’t feel like enough. She shut off the kitchen light and went upstairs. 

—————————————————————————————————

It was March when Dean was captured. The stubborn scraps of snow had finally melted away and a few brave plants were forcing their way up through the earth. 

They Apparated with several loud cracks by a lake. Griphook clung to Dean’s arm, fingers digging in painfully. Gornuk, who had used Side-Along Apparition with Dirk, looked similarly disgusted. 

The lake was covered in early-morning mist. No birds were chirping, as if they were scared to disrupt the silence. 

Someone yelled, “Freeze!” 

They did, exchanging wary looks. The goblins muttered something to each other in their grunting language. 

A group of Snatchers came into view. One of them had a length of chain dangling from his shoulders. 

Ted looked at Dirk, who nodded. Suddenly the morning erupted into chaos. Spells were flying through the air and the Snatchers started running to reach the runaways, yelling curses as they did so. Dean saw Dirk fall out of the corner of his eye. Gornuk let out an alarmed yell and released the dead man’s arm. 

Ted yelled, “Dean, go! I’ll hold ‘em off for as long as I can!” 

“What?” There was so much noise, so much light shooting back and forth. “No, Ted, I’m not leaving you!” 

A Snatcher grabbed Dean’s arm with a snarl. Ted hit the man squarely in his chest, Stunning him. “Run!” 

With one last glance back, Dean did. The Snatchers surrounded Ted and Dean started to turn back, only to feel Griphook tug him forward. The goblin growled, “C’mon!” 

As they spun to Disapparate, Dean heard someone yell “Avada Kedavra!” 

The world reeled them away, and he didn’t see Ted fall. 

 

They got taken about a day later, Dean made careless by grief. The new group of Snatchers only had Dean and Griphook for about two hours before they stumbled upon three more captives — as luck would have it, Harry, Ron, and Hermione — and suddenly they were all going on a day trip to Malfoy Manor. 

Luna looked like a wraith in the dim light of the cellar — face too pale, arms too thin. She cut their ropes with a rusty nail. 

Dean said, “Thanks,” and looked around, shivering. On the walls, she had scratched in great sweeping pictures. A tree stood as tall as she could reach, and constellations galloped over the cold stone. Something to keep her sane, he guessed. Who knew how long she had been in here. 

Luna had always been closer to Ginny than to Dean, but he felt a surge of affection and pity for her. 

He signed, _Can I hug you?_

She smiled. “Oh, that would be nice.” 

Dean pulled her in, feeling her smile against his arm. She continued, “I’m afraid I’ve fallen behind on my signing since I’ve been in here. We used it at Hogwarts, you know. It was Seamus’ idea.” 

Dean’s heart rate tripled, and Luna giggled softly as though she could feel it. “Last time I saw him, he was fine. Helping Neville lead the revolution.” 

“Stand back,” A familiar voice called from outside the door. Malfoy didn’t sound convinced as he ordered the prisoners to “Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything or I’ll kill you!” 

They did so, and Malfoy came in, a determined frown on his face. He grabbed Griphook by the arm. As the door shut behind them, the goblin cast one last look at Dean. His face plainly read, _Your fault._

 

The house-elf brought them to Ron’s brother’s cottage, a space where they could all heal in safety. 

Dean didn’t see Hermione that much, since she spent much of her time resting or holed up with Harry and Ron probably hatching some plot or another. When he did see her, usually at meals, she bore no visible wounds from the torture but looked wan and shaky, like her screams were still echoing in her head. 

He had helped bury the house-elf — Dobby — who had died to get them to safety. They didn’t use magic to dig the grave, he and Ron following Harry’s lead, hoping the sweat and bloody callouses on their hands would be a meager start to repaying the debt. 

After the funeral, Dean found a spot to sit on the rocky beach away from the others. He stared out at the waves. 

Under Seamus’ hands he had never felt dirty. Never felt like his blood was tainted or impure. Seamus — all fire and mischief and blunt words —  was always so gentle with him like he feared Dean might vanish under his hands. 

Ted was dead. He was gone. Dean would never see him again. It still didn’t feel real. But Seamus was fine, and Luna was here safe at Shell Cottage. 

Dean had thought that he was going to end up in Azkaban at the hands of the Snatchers, or dead by the Death Eaters. But he wasn’t. They had escaped and he was alive. That didn’t feel real either. 

Ron sat down next to him with a grunt. “Hey.” 

“Hey, mate. How’s Hermione?” 

The redhead grimaced. “Eh. Fleur gave her some stuff, so she’ll be okay.” He exhaled heavily. “But Merlin’s balls… I mean, I thought…”

“I know.” Dean didn’t want to make him say it. 

“Yeah. But how about you? Saw you were chained up by those Snatchers.” 

“Yeah, well. Bound to happen sometime, wasn’t it?” 

Ron squinted at him, trying to gauge Dean’s tone. His concern made Dean feel slightly better. Finally Ron said, “C’mon inside, man. Bill’s got some firewhisky, that’ll make you feel a little better.” 

Dean shrugged and stood up, realizing suddenly how cold he was. 

Ron clapped a hand to his back. “Hogwarts sure feels like it happened a long time ago.” 

They started to climb back up the the bluff. Dean said, “Yeah.” 

—————————————————————————————————

“It’s only a matter of time before they come,” Neville told Seamus for what seemed like the millionth time. 

Seamus shook his head. _They’re just kids, like us._

Neville shrugged. “And look what we’re doing.” He signed, _I have faith in Harry._

 _It’d be a lot easier to have faith if we weren’t getting beat up for him every day._ Still, Seamus envied Neville his steadfastness and easy determination. 

Unfortunately for Seamus, the Carrows seemed to have chosen him and Neville as their punching bags, or maybe one of those rubber stress toys shaped like a cupcake that you’re supposed to squeeze when you’re having a bad day. 

The boys were proud of their status as thorns in the administration’s side, and did all they could to stand up to them, interjecting in class like Harry would have done. 

But morale was growing low. Neville had lost his two partners-in-crime months ago, and Harry wasn’t there. Until one day he was. 

 _I don’t believe you,_ Seamus signed. People jostled him in the crowd surrounding Neville. The other boy paused in the act of climbing into the portrait hole. 

 _A-B-E-R-F-O-R-T-H told me. He doesn’t lie to us._ Neville looked over at Parvati and replied, “No, it’s not a trap.” 

Lavender pouted. “It could be. I won’t believe it until I see them come through the passageway with my own eyes.” 

Neville grinned at her — “Suit yourself.” —  and vanished into the tunnel.

Lavender crossed her arms and said petulantly, “It’s probably fake.” 

Parvati raised her eyebrows in understanding but said nothing. She caught Seamus’ eye and made a face warning him not to start an argument. Lavender was only trying not to get her hopes up, Parvati’s expression explained. 

Seamus rolled his eyes but shrugged and looked away. 

And then the portrait hole opened back up, and Neville led in Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Seamus felt the tension in the room burst into excitement. He fell in with the crowd to shake hands, hug, ruffle the hair and pound on the backs of their heroes. 

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Neville ordered, waving his arms like he was directing traffic. 

The trio marveled at their surroundings. Harry asked, “Where are we?” 

“Room of Requirement, of course. It’s quite straightforward, really, but it’s a proper hideout. As long as one of us stays in here, the Carrows can’t get in, ‘cause the door won’t open for them.” 

Seamus said, “So we’ve been hiding out here for nearly two weeks, and it just makes more hammocks every time we need them! Even sprouted a pretty good bathroom once girls started showing up.” 

Harry swayed suddenly, violently, like he might tip over. Ron grabbed his arm. Hermione’s face wrinkled in concern. 

“Are you all right, Harry?” Neville said. He looked at the Patil twins for assistance, who shrugged simultaneously. “Want to sit down?” 

“No,” the Boy Who Lived said. “We need to get going.” 

Seamus signed as he spoke. “What’s the plan?” 

“Plan? There’s something Ron, Hermione, and I need to do, and then we’ll get out of here.” 

The current students exchanged looks. Neville, agitated, forgot to sign for Seamus as he argued with Harry. 

Figuring someone would fill him in later, Seamus gave up trying to read their lips. As a result, he was the first one to notice the portrait hole sliding open once more. 

“We got your message, Neville! Hello you three, I thought you must be here!” Luna piped out a greeting which Dean did not add to. He was searching through the crowd of faces — searching, searching — _there._

Seamus gave a great roar of delight and ran to hug his best friend. 

Dean hugged him fiercely. Seamus felt wondrously solid and real _. Alive._ Dean drew them into a corner, a little bit away from the group _._

They inspected each other. Surprisingly, Dean looked healthy, the only visible blemish the last marks of a cut healing on his cheek. Seamus reached up to touch it lightly. 

Seamus’ face was bruised and puffy. In spite of his wounds (of which Dean was alarmed to find more and more each second) Seamus grinned widely. 

 _Who did this to you?_ Dean signed. 

Seamus shrugged. _Doesn’t matter. It’s good to see you again._

Dean didn’t bother with a response, preferring instead to step closer and kiss him. 

They returned to the group too quickly, reluctant to miss any big decisions. Dean tucked his arm firmly around Seamus, not sure he had plans to ever let go. 

More people had arrived while they were preoccupied with each other, and the room was filling up. Ginny bounced on her toes and waved at them. Seamus waved back. 

“You’ve got to stop this!” Harry was saying to Neville. “What did you call them all back for? This is insane—”

Dean held out his fake Galleon from the D.A. last year. “We’re fighting, aren’t we? The message said Harry was back and we were going to fight.” As an afterthought, “I haven’t got a wand, though…”

Seamus began, “You haven’t got a _wand—_?” 

After a quick conference with Ron and Hermione, Harry turned back to the group. “Alright, okay. There’s something we have to find first but… yes. We’re fighting.” 

Dumbledore’s Army erupted into cheers. And just like that, the battle had begun. 

When Death Eaters swarmed the castle, Dean and Seamus fought together. Seamus disarmed the first enemy he saw and tossed the wand to Dean, who caught it distastefully but used it nonetheless.

Dean heard someone yell a curse at them from behind and turned to deflect it — Seamus quickly understood what he was doing and fought off someone else from the front. 

Seamus felt a rumbling under their feet and pushed Dean out of the way as part of the corridor collapsed. Dean signed a quick _Thanks._ Seamus signed, _Let’s go._

It was overwhelming for Dean because of how much noise there was. Spells were popping and whistling and zinging and the people who cast them or who they hit were shouting. The noise didn’t bother Seamus, but there was so much light around him and explosions flickering in the corner of his eye that he didn’t know where to look or what to focus on. It was hard for both of them due to the people all around pushing and shoving and dying. 

The Death Eaters suddenly withdrew and they had a small reprieve to rest and heal. Padma and Terry Boot had set up an assembly-line style of aid for those who weren’t seriously injured but needed some help anyway. The boys found Ginny and Luna and sat together quietly. 

Dean watched a groaning man get carried into a side room. He was missing half of his body and vomiting bile. 

Seamus laced their fingers together to draw his attention away. “Don’t look at them.” 

So they didn’t look at the injured and sat, waiting, feeling the sting of their own gashes healing. 

And then they were called out of the castle, and then Harry was dead on the grass. And then Harry _wasn’t_ dead, and he leaped up and then Voldemort was dead.

Dean yelled, “Whoo! That’s my roommate!” 

Voldemort was dead but his supporters weren’t, so then they were fighting again, and then it was over. 

And they had won. 

 

Seamus signed, _It doesn’t feel real._

They were sitting at one of the four tables that had been pushed together in the middle of the hall. Nearby, Neville ate with the sword of Gryffindor next to his plate, surrounded by fans. 

Seamus was immensely proud. 

 _I know,_ Dean signed. _Neville really grew up._

Seamus nodded. _He’s surrounded by girls. Never thought I’d see the day._

They snickered and made faces at Neville across the table, who blushed a mighty purple. He waved away their rude comments with one finger, inciting more laughter from the pair — because, after all, they were seventeen and had just won a war. A little teasing was to be expected. 

Dean played with Seamus’ fingers but let go suddenly and signed, _Want to get out of here?_

The other boy nodded. 

They ran into Parvati on their way out of the Great Hall. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She said, “Lavender’s gone.” 

Seamus reached out to her, but she shook him away, gasping a little. “I have to meet Padma. I just… I just th-thought you ought to know.” 

They walked the rest of the way in silence. 

Seamus led them into a classroom that was missing its desks and some glass in the window but was otherwise undamaged. He pulled two chairs up to face the window and they sat. 

Dean said, “Lavender.” 

Seamus studied him. _I’m going to miss her. I mean, she…_

He didn’t say anything else. Dean said, “She was flighty and… silly and made a lot of snide comments.” He signed, _I’m going to miss her too._

_And she was kind. We can’t forget that._

_We won’t._

The grief hanging over their heads lessened just a tiny bit. They watched the birds fly over the treetops in content silence. 

After a while, Dean nudged Seamus’ leg. “So what are you gonna do after this? I heard they’re opening Hogwarts back up to us next year. Like, if our class wants come back and get an actual education. Would you do that?” 

Seamus made a face. _Don’t think I’d want to._

He thought. Maybe he could get a job at the Leaky Cauldron. Or Aberforth would probably hire him. Seamus grinned at the thought. 

Dean elbowed him. _What?_

_Nothing. I want to open up a pub somewhere. In a few years._

_That sounds great!_ Dean pointed to his lips, letting Seamus know that he was going to start speaking. “And I’ll be the struggling artist who lives upstairs and shags the landlord.” 

A surprised laugh burst out of Seamus and he felt his neck turn red. Dean grinned at him, soaking up the sound. 

The sun shone in through the cracked windowpane. Seamus leaned over and brushed his lips over Dean’s, who made an eager noise and leaned in for more. Seamus took control and drew it out, kissing him slowly.

Dean didn’t complain. After all, the war was over. They had all the time in the world. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I used www.signbsl.com for a lot of this, as I am not fluent in British Sign Language. If anyone can spot glaring errors in my descriptions of the signing, please let me know. 
> 
> Title comes from the song "It's Only A Paper Moon." 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


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